The Squire of Eros
by Aldora89
Summary: An old nemesis pays a social call to the Enterprise just in time for the annual Valentine's Day party.  But when the holiday-inspired antics turn dangerous, Jim is forced to confront his long-evaded desires regarding his first officer.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Written for the K/S Valentines community on LJ. Somehow it grew a plot and proceeded to enslave me for days on end in a desperate attempt to finish it on time. For those of you who don't know, this fic springs off of the TOS episode "The Squire of Gothos." WATCH IT.**

**Chapter Rating: PG-13**

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Sometimes Jim Kirk thought he had lost his capacity for surprise. Between the talking, omniscient time gate, the giant, planet-eating weapon, and the tribble incident, he occasionally entertained the delusion that nothing could shock him anymore. Of course after awhile, the universe always caught up, and that was one of the things he loved about his job. There were difficulties, to be sure, but endless wonders and opportunities as well.

That morning, on his way to the bridge, the latest surprise from the universe was as unappreciated as it was unexpected.

"My most sincere salutations, Captain Kirk!" The man in the Napoleonic uniform grinned smugly at him from where he had appeared in a flash of light in the middle of the hall. "Thought you were rid of me forever, hmm?"

Jim gaped for what felt like several seconds, almost paralyzed by the insane rush of adrenaline. He reached instinctively for a phaser that wasn't there, and clenched his hand at his side instead. "Trelane," he murmured, hardly able to believe his own assessment.

"You _do _remember me! Oh, how delightful!" Before he could comprehend what was going on, let alone react to it, Trelane had clapped him on the shoulder and started steering him down the hall, as if they were old pals out for stroll. "It's been _ages_,Captain, ages. Well, for me anyway. I'm sorry to drop in like this, but I just happened to be in the quadrant and noticed you were passing by. Now tell me, how fares your lovely little vessel?"

He wasn't waking up. Why wasn't he waking up? Jim finally snapped out of his daze and dove toward the nearest com panel.

Suddenly he was diving for the floor of his quarters instead, just managing to avoid an appendectomy via desk corner. He hit the floor at an awkward angle, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. Somewhere above him, Trelane was still chattering away. "A less distracting setting, I should think. But oh dear, are these really your quarters? I wasn't expecting something so Spartan."

"_You_." Jim panted between his gasps for air, as he uncurled himself and glowered at the ostentatious being peering down at him. There should be a law against having that much gold embellishment as part of an outfit.

"My goodness, is that hostility I'm detecting?" Trelane offered his hand with an unnecessary flourish. "Come now, Captain. Can't we let bygones be bygones?"

Jim ignored the hand, hauled himself to his feet, and promptly backed against the wall, crouched into a fighting stance. He scanned the room for something, anything he could use to confuse or give Trelane pause just long enough. Long enough for what, he wondered vaguely. "What are you doing here? Where are your parents?"

"I'll have you know I am over twelve years old. Million, that is. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"That's not how I remember it." Jim's mind was racing, but it felt more like a hamster on a wheel than anything else. Could he throw a vase? Duck behind his desk? Try to shout out computer commands at auctioneering speeds? Every immediate option seemed absurd.

Trelane gestured in enthusiastic dismissal. "You knew me when I was but a lad of half an epoch. Time changes us all, my dear captain – well, time and the right connections. I have been to the farthest edges of the universe and back. I have seen into the past and the future. In short," he gestured toward himself as though he were presenting a work of art, "I have matured."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word on this?"

"But of course! Now where is that sourpuss Vulcan of yours?" Something positively devious lit up Trelane's face, and he glanced around the room as though he expected Spock to emerge from some hiding spot. "I should very much like to meet him again."

Matured, indeed.

"I don't know."

"Not here?"

"Why would he be? These aren't his quarters."

"Oh." Trelane gave him dubious look. "It appears I've assumed too much."

Five minutes with him, and Jim was already developing a headache and a half. "What?"

Trelane continued as he paced about the room and studied the furnishings, talking more to himself now than Jim. "How peculiar. It seemed so obvious. And it worked beautifully too! Complete and immediate cooperation." He rounded on Jim, eyes narrowed. "You're sure?"

"The only thing I'm sure of," Jim said carefully, "is that I have no idea what you're going on about."

Trelane frowned for a moment, but then shrugged and continued exploring Jim's quarters like he owned the place. He turned his back to study the chess board, halfway through the game Jim and Spock had started the night before, and Jim inched his way toward the console keypad to type in the red alert code.

His wary eyes were fixed on Trelane, so when his hand hit something cold, damp, and squishy, his head almost hit the wall in his frantic leap backwards. On his desk, in place of his console, was a large and elaborately molded gelatin dessert.

"It's strawberry." Trelane wheeled around, grinning triumphantly. "Do you like strawberry, Captain? I am told it's a popular flavor of sustenance amongst your species."

"Put my console back right now!" Jim tried not to think about how much he just sounded like a kindergarten teacher.

"Captain, you wound me! Don't you like my gift?"

"Gift?"

"In return for hosting me."

"_Hosting you_?"

/Captain./ A monotone, highly welcome voice sounded over the com. /We've just picked up a minor energy disturbance in your quarters. Is everything all right?/

"There's that old killjoy!" Trelane laughed in an unsettling manner.

"Mr. Spock, red alert," Jim barked, seizing his chance. "Beta five nine–"

"Now Captain, if you want to talk to a man, do be polite and meet him face-to-face."

There was another flash of light, the hiss of an energy discharge, and suddenly Spock was bending over the jello the exact same way he stood at his scanner. If Jim weren't so irritated, he would have laughed; seeing Spock react to such an abrupt and inexplicable change of scenery was priceless. Seeing him react to Trelane's presence came in a close second, as he schooled his face into such a stone cold expression that anyone who wasn't a nearly omnipotent being would have balked.

"I assume you didn't get a chance to call the alert," Jim murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly the siren started blaring, and the red lights flashed, and Spock gave him a sidelong glance. "I assume that in light of my… sudden departure from the bridge, Lieutenant Scott would have taken the most logical course of action."

"'Course he would." Jim nodded and allowed himself a brief smirk at Trelane. Even if Trelane shut the alert down now, the crew would be on their guard, and Scotty would know something was wrong.

Trelane didn't seem particularly concerned, only displeased. He scrunched up his face and frowned. "Zounds, Captain! Is that unseemly racket really necessary?" Sure enough, he waved a hand and said racket ceased. "That's better. Now then. We're all civilized men, there's no need for a fuss."

"What, precisely, is he doing here?" Spock murmured.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"I already told you, I'm here to experience the famous Federation hospitality," Trelane said, sizing up Spock with a shark-like grin. "Tell your first officer not to fret. I have no bags for him to carry. All I require is one of your best rooms and access to your databanks."

"I don't suppose telling you to leave us alone would work?" Jim already knew the answer, but a man could hope, after all.

"My thirst for the sweet waters of knowledge will not be denied by plebian paranoia." Trelane declared. "I am a citizen of the universe, an explorer, like your Magellan. I admire your Magellan very much, very much indeed."

"The last time we met, you were a soldier enamored with Napoleon." Spock crossed his arms. "Your uniform suggests that you still are."

"Well," Trelane looked down at himself, "it is a very fine uniform. But I assure you, dear Captain, I merely wish to learn more about your species. Only for a handful of Earth days, three at the most. I have business to attend to, after all." He looked at them attentively as he waited for a reply.

Jim turned to Spock, oddly grateful that Trelane had teleported his first officer into the situation. He always felt more comfortable in tough spots with Spock at his side. Then again, he felt more comfortable in general with Spock around, but that was and always would be an issue for another day's contemplation.

"Senior staff meeting?" He suggested.

"I agree." Spock gave Trelane an especially arctic once-over. "We shall give your request our most careful consideration." He picked up the jello, no doubt intending to subject it to every scan imaginable.

"Wait here, and don't… err… transmogrify anything else." Jim said sternly and took Spock's arm, steering him out of his quarters as fast as possible to escape any possible retorts. They weren't quite fast enough.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Captain!" Trelane shouted gleefully after them before the doors closed.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe we should give him a chance." Jim had hardly finished his statement before the incredulous protests started.

"Now Jim, you can't be serious."

"Sir, I can't speak for you, but I know Sulu sure didn't appreciate being a wax figure."

"What if he decides to play with the warp core?"

Jim lifted a hand to silence them. "He almost ran me through with a sword, but I still think we should give him the benefit of the doubt. We're ambassadors of the Federation, and like it or not, he represents a rather unique alien species." He shrugged, and continued reluctantly. "His enthusiasm for learning seems genuine."

"He may have enthusiasm in abundance, Captain, but the fact remains that he is a dangerous and unruly being who takes pleasure in causing disruption for others." Spock's tone was just as clipped as when he had been addressing Trelane himself.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," McCoy jabbed a thumb at Spock.

"But so far his disruption has more in common with practical jokes than war games. Has he hurt anyone? Threatened us?" Jim waited for someone to challenge him, but no one could. At least, not yet. Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "He claims he's grown up since we last met him."

McCoy started to snicker, but stopped when he saw that Jim was completely serious. He cleared his throat and fought to regain his composure. "Well, has he?"

Jim surveyed the conference room and the expressions of his most trusted advisors, mostly severe with the exception of McCoy, who looked like he was about to burst into laughter again. "Honestly, I couldn't say. He still acts like a spoiled brat of a child, but either his cruel streak has waned, or he hides it well."

"I vote for 'hides it well.'" DeSalle grumbled.

"Your concern is shared, lieutenant," Jim said. "But right now we need to focus on how we're going to deal with him. Assuming he is telling the truth, he expects a response from us."

"If he won't take no for an answer, what's the point? All we can do is put up with him and hope he doesn't kill anyone," DeSalle said, brow knit and eyes fierce.

"We can try to get the better of him, trick him somehow," McCoy suggested, attempting to ease the tension in the room with a casual tone that did not quite fit their situation. "We managed it before, if only for a little while."

"Indeed, if his presence here is inevitable, we would do well to discuss potential weaknesses," Spock said.

"I dunno if this is relevant, sir," Scotty offered, and Jim turned to find him poking at a wobbly exhibit A in the center of the table, "but this isn't strawberry." He licked a red-coated finger tentatively. "It's cherry."

"You mean it doesn't taste like nothing?" McCoy shifted in his chair.

Jim leaned across the table and pinched off a piece of the dessert, taking a cautious taste for himself. "Cherry it is." It had more in common with cough medicine than the actual fruit, but there was a definite flavor present.

"That doesn't bode well for us, if he's learned how to put more substance to things," McCoy's clinical calm was slipping at this new development, and Jim aimed for damage control.

"Still not omniscient, though." He settled back in his chair, watching the jello mold quiver with residual movement, as if their scrutiny were making it nervous. "I'd call that a point in our favor."

"Let's keep it that way. We can't let him loose with the databanks," DeSalle said.

"What he doesn't know can't hurt us," Scotty quipped in agreement.

"And for an immaterial being, he's pretty materialistic," McCoy offered, some of his humor returning. "He had quite the collection at that palace of his."

"He has an illogical interest in observing human rituals," Spock added. "Dueling protocol, hospitality, dancing."

"Good, everyone." Jim paused to review his mental list, but he decided to save connecting the dots for later. Their 'guest' was no doubt getting impatient. "Anything else we should keep in mind?"

"What about his fixed power source?" DeSalle frowned, and began to glance at their surroundings suspiciously.

"We'll keep our eyes open, but he might not have one. I never did figure out where he drew his power from after I broke the computer." Jim pointed out, then stood up briskly and planted his hands on the table. "All right, here's what we're going to do. We welcome him. We play nice. The second he starts to cross into old territory, we manipulate him however we can. I'll challenge him to a rematch, if it comes to that."

"Captain–" Spock started to object.

"This is non-negotiable. If he threatens the ship, we need a last resort." Jim hated brushing off Spock's concern, but now was not the time for indecisiveness. "In the meantime, no one breathes a word of this to Starfleet, not yet. I don't want them getting involved and attracting his attention toward Earth. As far as they know, we're still on our uneventful course to Vallar 3." Jim turned to his chief engineer, glad for an excuse to look away from Spock. "Mr. Scott, head down to my quarters. You're going to give Trelane a tour of the ship."

"Sir?"

"Show him the nonessential areas, and walk slow. Take him to meet me on the bridge in half an hour. That should give Mr. Spock enough time to conceal any sensitive information in the databanks."

"Aye, sir. I'll tell him more than he ever wanted to know about the history of power conduits," Scotty said triumphantly.

"Bones, program the computer to send you status updates on every crewmember. If anyone's life signs change or vanish, I want an exact time and location."

"You got it, Jim." Bones followed Scotty out the door with that miniscule southern gentleman's nod.

"DeSalle, if there's even the slightest wobble in our course, tell me immediately. And tell the quartermaster to find our guest a room so we can get him out of mine." The head navigator nodded once and made his exit, leaving Jim alone with his first officer.

Spock had already busied himself at one of the conference room consoles, sifting through files, hiding some and giving others nonsense keywords. Jim could sense his displeasure by the boxed-in way he held himself, the sharp edge to his movements. "Well, Mr. Spock?"

There was the slightest hesitation in the flow of commands from Spock's fingers. "I maintain my disagreement, but I support your decision."

Jim placed a hand on Spock's shoulder, which relaxed marginally beneath his touch. The instinct to lean in and lower his voice was strong, even though no one was around to eavesdrop. "Look, I don't trust him as far as I can throw him either. But learning is a two-way street."

"Captain?"

"As he learns about us, we'll be learning about him. We can run scans every minute of the day. We can evaluate him psychologically. We can assess the true extent of his powers. Even if we glean nothing, maybe we can convince him that humanity is more than a plaything or a curiosity."

Spock paused to consider this for a moment. "A most logical approach, captain," he conceded, if somewhat reluctantly.

That kind of complement always thrilled and humbled Jim more than a hundred 'Fleet metals ever could. "Thank you, Spock." He gave his first officer's shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go, leaving him to his work. "I'll see you on the bridge."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Rating: PG-13**

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When Trelane emerged from the turbolift about five minutes after Jim relieved Uhura from command, Jim was more surprised than if he had simply flashed into existence. He hoped it was a sign that Trelane was trying, at least superficially, to make his hosts more comfortable around him. He stood up to greet the showy figure, and crossed his fingers that Spock had worked his usual inhuman speed on the databanks.

"Captain, I'm disappointed." Trelane said as he swept out of the lift, his arms crossed and his tone accusatory. "A mere henchman, escorting me around _your _vessel?"

Jim tried to pretend he was expecting Trelane's early appearance. "She's my ship, but she's Mr. Scott's baby. Did you enjoy the–"

Suddenly the turbolift doors slid open again, and Scotty stumbled out. He leaned against the bulkhead, panting with exertion, looking vaguely alarmed at everything around him. His eyes focused on Jim, and he blinked rapidly. "I tried, sir. He got away."

Meanwhile, Trelane was ignoring Jim, strutting onto the bridge as if he were master and commander. He had just caught sight of a certain communication's officer, frozen wide-eyed at her station.

"Ah, my desert queen, my fair Cleopatra! How good to see you again!" Trelane seized Uhura's hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. She leapt up, jerked away, and backed against the wall of consoles, her gaze snapping between Jim and their visitor.

"Captain? Do you… are you seeing…"

"Yes, lieutenant."

"Oh. I thought I was losing my mind." She calmed down a bit and stared at Trelane, arms wrapped protectively around herself. "I'm not sure I wouldn't prefer that option right about now, sir."

Believe me, I know, Jim thought, but he held his tongue. "The circumstances are a little out of the ordinary, but he'll be visiting us for the next few days. He claims he's here to observe." The subtext, of course, being that mostly everyone thought Trelane was lying like a snake in the grass. Jim saw the wary glint in Uhura's eyes and knew she got the message.

"I see. You didn't get enough of observing us before?"

"Why, fair _mademoiselle_, your tone cuts me to the quick!" Trelane clutched at his chest, and seemed on the verge of a dramatic, lengthy monologue. Fortunately, he still had the attention span of a goldfish, and when he glanced toward the navigator's station, his building theatrics fizzled out with a frown. "Good sir, I do believe I recognize you."

He made a beeline for Sulu, who as far as Jim could tell, had been facing resolutely forward, pretending to be invisible. Jim flinched and started after Trelane, but Uhura tugged at his sleeve, and he turned back around. She seized his collar and pulled him down so his ear was level with her mouth. "Captain," she whispered urgently, "what about the party tomorrow?"

"Party?"

"The Valentine's party, sir! The party we've be planning for a month. The party with about 98% of the crew attending. Is it still–"

"A party? In my honor?" Trelane forgot all about Sulu and bounded back across the bridge, swooping down on them like a Neuralian spear-bird, so fast Jim was almost sure he teleported. He made a mental note that Trelane's hearing was now better than Spock's.

Uhura shot him a frantic look, and he considered the possibilities. At this point, it seemed like a good idea to keep their unsolicited guest as entertained as possible. The more they amused him with illogical human ritual, the less likely he would be to cause trouble. Jim gave her a brief and reluctant nod, and she faced Trelane. "No, but of course you're invited," she said slowly, recovering her composure. "It's for Valentine's Day. An Earth holiday."

"Why, I've never heard of such a thing, but I would be remiss to turn down a party invitation. Tell me more about this holiday, this," Trelane paused, probably for pure dramatic flair, "Valentine's Day." Despite having heard the name spoken aloud, he managed to pronounce it like it was an exotic and dubious-looking alien casserole.

"I can do better than that," she said, turning up the charm. "I can show you where we'll be celebrating." Trelane appeared quite effectively captivated by her, and Jim decided to present Uhura with a medal of valor when all was said and done.

"We'll take you to your room, afterwards." Jim suggested, as they headed toward the turbolift. And hopefully contain him there with another distraction to keep concentrated crazy from getting all over the ship. "Mr. Scott, keep an eye on things here."

"Aye, sir." Scotty nodded, wiping his forehead on a sleeve, and Jim wondered exactly what kind of wild goose chase Trelane must have led him on. Judging from Scotty's dazed expression, it was likely a story that required plenty of alcohol to tell.

Just before they had reached the lift, the doors hissed open for the third time in as many minutes, and Spock stepped out right on cue. Judging from the slight shift in his eyebrows when he saw that Trelane was already present, if he were human he'd be grumbling obscenities under his breath.

"And where has the killjoy half-breed been lurking?"

"Mr. Spock, perfect timing," Jim interrupted, shooing Trelane along after Uhura before things could escalate. "Why don't you come with us? I think you should be there when we establish some ground rules."

"Yes, Captain." Spock nodded stiffly, but he only followed Uhura's small entourage back into the lift when Jim took his arm and steered him along.

Jim took a second to channel Admiral Nogura, his mother, and his meanest academy professors all at once. "Trelane," he said sternly, as they began to descent to G deck.

He was ignored in favor of the flashing lights on the control panel.

"Look at me." He snapped his fingers in front of Trelane's face, which earned him a flinch and a slight attitude adjustment. "While you're here, you won't harm or threaten anyone. There will be no teleportation of my crew without their consent. No teleporting yourself either."

"No changing the fundamental composition of the ship's equipment." Spock added.

"No taking control of the ship or altering our course."

"No interfering with the duties of the crew."

"If we tell you to do something, you do it. Break any of the rules, and you will no longer be welcome here. Understood?" Jim prayed to a few dozen alien gods that he didn't ask about consequences.

Trelane rolled his eyes. "Yes father. Yes mother. But wait – which is which?" He gave them each a cheeky grin, with a hint of something fiendish that Jim recognized all too well. It seemed Trelane had discovered the bawdier side of human culture since they last met.

"I'm the mother," Uhura said promptly, before Spock could start puzzling out Trelane's question. "And these are my boys. I know because they're always getting into trouble."

A very shiny medal, Jim thought as he gave her a look of intense gratitude on their way out of the lift. Or maybe something delicious and Earth-grown. Permission to give him the birthday spanking she teased him about every year. She chatted with Trelane about several ridiculous away mission mishaps as they made their way down the hall, and Jim exchanged a glance of mingled amusement and concern with Spock behind their backs.

She took them to the crew lounge, the largest of the ship's recreational areas. It had been decorated over the past few days with crepe paper, balloons, and festive table cloths to suit the occasion. Heart-shaped cookies and cakes were lined up on the buffet table, near an empty chocolate fountain and a wide assortment of cocktail ingredients. The chairs had red slipcovers that looked suspiciously like repurposed security uniform fabric. All in all, the unofficial Morale Committee had done a respectable job at disguising the room's bland grey appearance with their limited resources.

Uhura led Trelane in a circle around the room, commenting on and explaining the holiday trappings as best she could. He, in turn, claimed he adored almost everything he saw, and had a curiosity streak to rival any toddler. If Spock weren't so grim from his displeasure at Trelane's presence and/or existence in general, Jim was sure he would be amused, because most of their guest's exchanges with Uhura followed a particular pattern:

"Surely your primary circulatory organ does not look like this."

"They're not based on the real thing."

"Than what are they based on?"

"Umm… there's a few theories, but I don't think anyone knows for sure."

"Oh, how quaint! How delightfully ignorant!"

Trelane also demanded to know things like the exact significance of the exchange of candy and flowers, and how a day honoring a Christian saint could become associated with a pagan god of love. Uhura finally gave up and showed him how to use a PADD to search the ship's databanks, which had almost none of the answers he was looking for, an issue independent of Spock's security protocols.

"What an absurd holiday," he concluded, after a minute or so of blessed silence. Jim stood up straighter, jolted back to attention after spending that minute composing a memo to inform the crew of their predicament. Spock, on the other hand, hadn't taken his eyes off Trelane the entire time, as if he thought the second he did the ship would explode.

Trelane leapt from his chair, thrust the PADD back into Uhura's arms, and rubbed his hands together. "Absurd indeed. Oh, but this will be such great fun." Then his expression shifted, and Jim doubted the devil himself could mange such a devilish grin. "I think I know a way to make it even better."

There was a brilliant flash of light, so bright Jim had to close his eyes.

His skin tingled unpleasantly, and he was seized by a knot of panic, the awful knowledge that he had been wrong in the worst way. Trelane was going to do something horrible to them all, trap them like rats in a maze and experiment on them for the rest of their lives.

Then the light faded, and he could see again, albeit a hundred extra feet in every direction. Instead of the lounge, they were standing in a ball room complete with Corinthian columns, a coffered ceiling, classical murals, and mahogany wood floors. Pink and white silk garlands looped between and spiraled around the columns. An exquisite chandelier hung from the center of the room, adorned with delicate flowers and unnaturally bright candles. Lace curtains framed each of the towering windows that looked out onto the moving star field beyond. Impossibly and absurdly, some of these views included part of the Enterprise, and Jim could only assume they were sticking out of the ship like a bizarre extra appendage, held together by God only knew what kind of reality-bending forces.

Equal parts anger and wonder took hold of him, and neither one managed to gain precedence. "What is this?" He demanded, turning to Trelane. "How?"

Trelane spun in a slow circle, hands on his hips, admiring his work. "Once I knew enough about your strange holiday's customs, I simply designed a space fit for such a fine crew. Do you like it?" He bore a striking resemblance to one of Admiral Archer's beagle puppies Jim had played with last shore leave, waiting for a pat on the head. It was disarming.

Spock, naturally, was the first to respond. "I see you have taken it upon yourself to break our rules so soon."

"Do you think so?" Trelane cocked his head to the side. "I didn't change anything fundamentally, you see, I only made a small addition. Details, details, Mr. Spock." He pounced on Jim again. "Well, Captain? Does it suit your taste?"

Jim didn't want to be impressed, truly he didn't – if anyone believed in the merits of hard work over magic lamps, it was him – but it would be like feigning boredom at a giant purple elephant. He tried to speak before he had completely navigated his way through this mental battlefield. "Well, it's…"

"It's spectacular!" Uhura filled in for him from where she had been standing to the side, practically squirming with glee.

"It's spectacular," Jim echoed, and he was sincere when he said it. He hadn't seen such a fine room since he was dragged to the Admiral's Ball three years ago, and the crew would no doubt love it. Hell, after almost three weeks of nothing but charting new star systems, they could all use a little excitement. He released the smile that had been waiting for permission to escape, and turned to face Spock.

"I find it disingenuous to congratulate someone on a task which, to them, is as simple as breathing," Spock said, staring down Trelane in a blatantly obvious challenge, so aloof that Jim felt a residual chill by proxy.

Trelane, amazingly, remained in good spirits. He took a self-deprecating tone for a moment or two, which sounded odd in his voice. "Well, it wasn't very strenuous, I'll admit, but it did require a bit of aesthetic thought. Besides, I did it for your diversion."

"The previous state of the room was sufficient."

"Sufficient, perhaps, but not grand. Surely you think that love should be celebrated in a grand manner?"

"I do not."

"Come now, don't be silly. Everyone wants to celebrate love."

"Vulcans do not believe that emotions are something to be celebrated."

"Truly? Then by fair Andromeda, what _do_ you celebrate?"

"Logic. Reason. Restraint. Qualities in which you appear to exhibit a deficiency."

"Now, now, Mr. Spock." Uhura laughed nervously and looped her arm around Spock's, patting him on the shoulder. "He likes to be contrary," she stage-whispered to Trelane, and started to lead Spock away, back toward the main body of the ship, saying some nonsense about a broken subspace relay.

Jim did not like the way Trelane followed Spock with his eyes at all. His look was far too calculating for comfort. They were both silent until Spock and his escort were out of sight. Jim was considering how best to reiterate the rules when his guest spoke.

"He is rather fond of his stoicism, isn't he?" Trelane folded his arms, leaning against a nearby column. "Looks down on the rest of you, methinks."

"Spock doesn't look down on us," Jim said, almost automatically. He knew this conversation by heart, as people tended to misinterpret Spock on a regular basis. "It's just the Vulcan way."

"I see. Is it also the Vulcan way to treat honored guests like the scum of the galaxy?"

Here was the opportunity Jim had been waiting for to teach Trelane about tolerance and understanding. "He doesn't think you're scum. He just doesn't trust you," he said.

"Why ever not?"

"Trust has to be earned. You can't expect someone to trust you when in the past, all you've done is manipulate them."

Trelane looked at Jim as if he had just explained that his command shirt was yellow. "That's why I did something nice for all of you! All right, so I may have teased him a bit, but what's a few jests between sporting men?"

"That's part of the problem. You can't tease Spock unless you know him very well."

"Well, that's not fair." A hint of old Trelane reared up once again, but it seemed like only the petulant child part, not the sadistic brat part.

Jim shrugged. "Give it more time. If someone doesn't like you despite your best efforts, treat them with respect and keep your distance. Sometimes two people have different ideas about what course a relationship should take, and there's nothing you can do to change that."

Silence fell for a moment, oddly comfortable, considering that Jim was sharing it with a godlike yet juvenile alien. Dare he think that he was getting through to Trelane, that he had just given him something to think about?

"You're a very lonely man, aren't you, Captain?"

Jim's hopes for a breakthrough stumbled to a halt. "Pardon?"

"Oh, it's not an unusual state for those in power, but you're a particularly bad case if ever I've seen one. And it's exactly that sort of attitude that keeps you there, I expect."

"What attitude?"

"You'll fight till your dying breath in the line of duty, but when it comes to private affairs, there's nothing you can do to change things. You, good sir, are a slave of the status quo. That explains why you haven't–"

"Hey, hold on now." Jim's face was hot with embarrassment and annoyance. "You've got it all wrong. I have my crew, many of whom are good friends, and…" He forced himself to stop. He didn't have to justify his life choices to an entity whose grasp of human nature was tenuous at best.

"But shouldn't a Captain have a consort?" Trelane started to pace the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the cavernous chamber. "That is in the spirit of this peculiar holiday of yours, correct? I mean, it has absolutely no real coherency, so the only point of keeping it alive must be to facilitate that strange corporeal mashing of body parts you mortals enjoy so much."

Jim thought briefly that if Spock could see past his prejudice, he would discover an unlikely rapport with Trelane in a few choice areas. "Romantic love is complicated," he said after a moment. "Corporeal mashing is complicated. I don't have time to deal with that sort of thing. Certainly not with my crew."

"But Captain–"

"Enough." Jim raised a palm, and although Trelane rolled his eyes, he kept his mouth shut. "Now come on. Your quarters are ready."

He started out of the room at a brisk pace, and Trelane had to trot after him to catch up. He tried to stay one step ahead whenever possible, so if Trelane wanted to keep bothering him, at least he would have to work for it. But there was no further incident the whole way to E deck, and Jim wasn't sure whether he was glad for the silence or concerned that Trelane could be busy concocting another scheme.

He showed Trelane to the empty officer's quarters, vacated last month by a retiring science lieutenant. Trelane adopted a look of supreme distaste as he was shown around, but must have realized that changing it to suit his whims right away would be impolite. Jim set about explaining the room's amenities after he was sure suits of armor and priceless art objects weren't going to be waved into existence any time soon.

"There's the bathroom, and the bed alcove, but I don't expect you'll be needing those."

Trelane sniffed. "Certainly not."

"The console connects you to the databanks. This button here is for communication. Don't use it unless there's an emergency, or we will shut it off."

"That won't be necessary." Trelane lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "As I said, I'm merely here to learn."

"I'll ask my department heads if you can shadow them," Jim said. "They'll need some time to rearrange their work schedules, but until then, you stay here. Are we clear?"

"As clear as the finest lead crystal."

Jim nodded and started for the door, eager to catch at least ten Trelane-free minutes with some coffee and a doughnut to make up for his missed breakfast. McCoy wouldn't approve, but as far as Jim was concerned, he had earned it.

"Oh, and Captain?" Jim paused at the threshold, collected the fraying threads of his patience, and glanced back. "I shall remain on my best manners with every member of your crew, for the time being. But if the disrespect continues, well…" Trelane's smile was brilliant, but his eyes took no part. "You really must do something about your subordinate."

Jim was almost tempted to stop by sickbay for a headache hypo. Almost.

* * *

Halfway through the afternoon, Jim went to check on Trelane, and found him riveted to old 20th century cartoons on his console. He proceeded to trap Jim for half an hour asking ridiculous questions and waxing poetic about the ingenuity of Bugs Bunny. For reasons Jim didn't bother asking, the sonic shower was on full blast.

A few hours later Jim checked in again to find Trelane playing dress-up with a slightly undersized 'Fleet uniform that had been left in the vacated quarters. It was stretched over his Napoleonic garb, as if it hadn't even occurred to him to take off one set of clothes before putting on another. Both times, Jim left Trelane baffled by the harmlessness of it all.

Later still Dr. Gail in astrometrics offered to let Trelane follow her around on her duties, and Lieutenant Jacobson suggested that he tag along with night shift security, bless their hearts. It wasn't long before other departments followed the example, whether out of curiosity, selflessness, or ignorance, it was impossible to say. Jim suspected it was the latter, although his memo had made it abundantly clear that the entity was at best a handful and at worst outright dangerous.

But by the end of the day, after many hours spent in finger-tapping, foot-bouncing, and constant pacing anxiety on the bridge, Jim's nerves were beginning to settle. Either he was starting to believe Trelane's intentions, or his neurons had simply clocked out. The illusion of control settled over him, and he was too tired to fight it any longer. He had planned out a detailed schedule that would, in theory, keep their guest occupied until the next afternoon. There was still one last issue to deal with before his shift ended for the night.

He found Spock at a console in one of the computer labs, examining the first rounds of scans to come in since Trelane's arrival. The room was dark except for the various terminal screens, and Jim picked his way carefully across the floor by that weak light.

Trelane's blithe and self-absorbed attitude had seemed to entrench Spock in his inflexible core of Vulcan values. It reminded Jim of whenever Spock had too much contact with his father, and he didn't like it one bit. He had to snap his first officer out of that mindset before it got worse.

"Mr. Spock."

"Captain."

Spock's desire to be left alone was almost tangible, like a weak force field prickling the back of his neck. Jim had ignored it plenty of times before, and he would ignore it now. "Anything telling?" He peered over Spock's shoulder at the screen.

"Aside from a massive energy discharge this afternoon in addition to several smaller ones, nothing of use."

Spock fell silent again, and Jim hesitated, but forged ahead. "Are you all right?"

"I am well." The fact that Spock hadn't even looked up to greet him begged to differ.

Always a battle, Jim thought. When it came to the personal arena with this man, he had to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of information. "I know he's not your favorite alien we've ever met, but you need to watch yourself around him. Don't give him any excuse to get angry with you."

"I will not lie to placate an unruly, egomaniacal individual." Only Spock could deadpan a statement like that.

"I'm not asking you to lie," Jim said. "I'm just asking you to be careful. If you don't have anything nice to say, well… I think you know the rest."

Finally, Spock turned away from his console and looked Jim in the eye, his physical attitude betraying irritation even if his face did not. "Why do you defend him?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance."

"He threatened your life. That fact still remains." Ah, here was the crux of the issue. Jim had his suspicions, and the hint of bitterness in Spock's tone was the confirmation he needed to broach the topic.

"He used you against me," Jim said gently. "I remember."

"Only because you allowed it," Spock murmured, and trained his eyes back on the screen. His demeanor softened, and the tips of his ears seemed to darken, but it was probably just the light of the shifting measurements on the screen. "Captain, I… dislike the thought of being your Achilles' heel."

Jim knew he should deny it, but Spock would never make such a statement without the evidence to back it up, and he knew full well there was plenty to be had. "If I'm Achilles, then you're Patroclus," Jim said. "But let's not try to fulfill that prophecy. I don't have time to desecrate a body and play games in your honor."

Spock bowed his head so that Jim could barely see his face. "I expect Starfleet would disapprove of that course of action."

Joking and teasing was something Spock had started doing around the second year of the mission, but every time he did it, Jim was still mildly amazed. He grinned in relief and leaned against one of the taller processors, feigning thoughtfulness. "Do you think so? There would be mitigating circumstances."

Spock looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "But your lack of a chariot could complicate the desecration issue."

"My God, you're right. In that case, I think I'll just mope around and wear ugly tracksuits." Jim pushed himself upright and crossed his arms, and Spock's eyebrow soared even higher, as if to declare the whole of humanity mentally unsound. He returned to his work, visibly more at ease than before.

Jim allowed himself to savor the fondness that gripped him for a breath or two, but he snapped out of it before it could progress any farther. "You should go to bed," he said. "No point in staring at 'nothing of use' all night."

"Need I remind you, Captain, that Vulcans do not–"

"Don't try to pull that on me. I know you've been up for days working on the data from that red giant system."

"May I point out that you require rest as well."

"No, you may not, because you're just trying to divert my attention."

Spock didn't sigh, but his shoulder sagged a little in defeat. He stood up and shot the display one last, agitated glance. "Computer. Lights on."

Jim bit back a particularly nasty Aldebaran curse and shut his eyes at the pain that blossomed behind his eyelids.

"Captain? What's wrong?" Spock was at his side, a gentle hand clasping his arm.

"It's nothing. Tension headache." Jim shook his head and blinked rapidly a few times in a vain attempt to clear the throbbing haze. "Just the day catching up with me."

"Lights to fifty percent," Spock said, and the sharpness of the pain subsided. "Should I accompany you to sickbay?"

"No need. It'll go away after a good night's rest." Jim would have turned to lead the way out, but Spock hadn't let go of his arm yet.

"I was under the impression that most humans find 'a good night's rest' difficult to initiate while experiencing physiological strain."

"Spock, please. Small words."

"I'm asking that you let me help. Captain."

The title sounded like a hasty afterthought, and Jim's brain was still stuck back around 'physiological.' "What do you mean?"

"I may be able to give you some relief, as you have an irrational aversion to sickbay." Jim waited for further explanation, but Spock didn't offer any. "If you would sit down, Captain."

"Mind meld?" He asked, even as he was approaching a chair.

"No. Something less invasive should be sufficient."

That took away a great many of Jim's planned objections. He had never melded with Spock outside of deadly, focused circumstances, and with very good reason. But even though he still lacked real clarification, Spock rarely reached out to him like this, so Jim took a seat. He listened to the contemplative footfalls as Spock stepped behind him.

Then Spock pressed his index fingers against the edges of Jim's face, just in front of his ears. "Relax your jaw." His voice carried the same kind of authority he used when they were on the bridge, but it was quieter than usual.

Jim hadn't even realized that his teeth were clenched until then. Simply being made aware it allowed him to let go of the tension there, and the stinging lines along the sides of his head eased. Spock's fingers trailed a little higher and pushed inward, splaying above and below Jim's eyebrows. "Close your eyes."

Half-formed thoughts slid to the surface of his mind, shifting and changing like the corona of a star, too fast for him to pin down. All that was definite was the feeling that he should be refusing this, because physical contact meant something far different to him than it did to Spock. He pushed down the strange disquiet before it could coalesce into anything more than vague impressions. He shut his eyes and was calmed by the darkness.

He could feel the gentle tug of his eyelids against Spock's fingers as his gaze shifted restlessly beneath them, the faint push of his own pulse through the fragile skin. Then Spock placed a thumb at the top of his nose, right between his eyes, pressing out the small knot of tension there. It was as though the rest of his forehead followed suit, unraveling around that single point, and he allowed his expression to go slack.

Spock's hands left his face and started skimming along the tendons of his neck, brushing the edge of his hair so lightly it almost tickled. He stopped every now and then to backtrack over a particular spot, and if anything, Jim's muscles grew even more constricted out of uncertainty, and the strange tingling sensations of the light touch. But soon after Spock pushed into his shoulders with intent, and Jim bit back a hiss of discomfort.

He realized that Spock had been scoping him out, learning where the worst spots were, and had set about attacking those first. Jolts of pain that were both unbearable and exquisite gripped Jim, and time and time again, they were forcibly smoothed away beneath strong fingers. In under a minute, his pounding headache faded to nothing more than white noise.

"I am surprised." Spock said, his voice drifting to Jim through a growing dopamine haze. "How have you been able to perform your duties while subject to such a high degree of physical stress?"

"Guess I didn't realize I was this bad." Jim chuckled hoarsely.

"I find it highly illogical that your species is so unaware of your own bodies."

Jim wanted to protest that a lack of awareness and intentionally shutting out pain were two different things. He was aware of his body when he wanted to be. He was aware of the fact that he was enjoying this a little too much, for instance, that every exclamation of gratitude he wanted to make would sound indecent.

He finally recognized what was happening and balked, rolling his shoulders and leaning out from that magic touch. Before Spock could react, he stood briskly and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. I feel much better now."

Spock let him go, but did not lower his arms completely, resting them on the back of the chair instead. "Your trapezius muscles are still quite tense."

"That's all right. I'm good enough to function."

The computer beeped behind them, and Jim was so grateful for the interruption he almost sighed in relief. Spock brushed past him to lean over and examine at the screen. "The program has worked faster than I anticipated. I have isolated an energy signature that is particular to Trelane's work."

"Will that help us?"

"Unknown."

Indefinite answers from Spock were disconcerting, but nothing was sure when it came to Trelane. Jim nodded slowly and shifted his weight from foot to foot, eager to leave and put some serious physical distance between himself and his first officer. "Well, just try your best to make some sense out of it. Keep me posted."

"Captain?" Spock glanced from the screen to Jim. "What course of action do you recommend at this point?"

It took Jim far longer than it should have to realize that Spock was talking about the new development in the scans. "If you're looking for my blessing to stay up all night again, you won't get it. But I'll turn a blind eye if I have to."

"And if nothing useful has presented itself by tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Then we have a party, Mr. Spock."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Rating: pg-13**

**

* * *

**

Most of Jim's crew was made up of people who had never met Trelane personally. Thus most of his crew's only firsthand knowledge of Trelane was that he was a playful, benevolent, and powerful alien who had given them the unspeakably amazing room for their party. By some miracle, he seemed to have charmed the few dozen who were acquainted directly with him as well. Jim stood on the sidelines of the Valentines extravaganza, wondering if he had stumbled into an alternate universe.

It just too bizarre to see everyone crowding Trelane with questions and complements; that is, after they had gotten over the initial slack-jawed and staring phase of entering the _Enterprise's_ new annex. It didn't help matters any that Trelane was a horrible tease.

"Well I'm not allowed to just _tell_ you things," he had said, when a pretty young ensign asked him how big the universe really was, "but the code that governs my people is not specific about the Socratic method."

As a result, every scientist and medic and historian on the shiphad proceeded to swarm him and bombard him with questions, which he managed to skirt around while making it sound like they were getting closer.

But all things considered, the event was going well. Jim mingled and withdrew from various groups of crewmen, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. The women were gorgeous in elegant multicolored gowns, the men handsome in sleek tuxedos, and absolutely everyone was smiling. Those scientists who weren't glued to Trelane were milling by the windows, discussing the star systems they were passing with dreamy expressions. Jim kept catching snatches of Scotty's botched tour story whenever he passed the engineer, of which his favorite bit was: "Sheep! A herd of sheep, right there in the middle of the bloody corridor!" Even DeSalle had warmed up to Trelane, and Jim actually spotted him clapping the entity on the shoulder in response to a French joke.

Not long after the dancing started, fed by music that seemed to emit from the columns, Jim ran into McCoy, looking sharp in a pinstripe suit. "You clean up well for an old country doctor," he said.

"Look who's talking. You're lucky if you can keep a shirt intact for more than a day." McCoy pushed a ruby red cocktail into his hand. "Try this."

Jim eyed it skeptically. "Who's responsible?"

"Not Trelane, if that's what you're thinking. Uhura made him leave the food alone when we told her about the jello." McCoy gestured to the drink. "Go on."

Jim took a sip, then another, then a few more. Pleasantly fruity, with chocolate liqueur undertones. "Not bad. Who's mixing?"

"Me." McCoy beamed. "So you like it?"

"Yeah, it's great."

"Good," McCoy said, and peered into the crowd, obviously distracted.

"Bones," Jim said carefully, trying to follow his friend's line of sight, "I'm not some kind of guinea pig, am I?"

"'Course not, Jim." McCoy snatched the drink back and finished it with the speed of a man who was trying to fortify himself. "By the way, Sulu told me he wants to talk to you later. Something about a pulsar, and changing our course. I wasn't paying attention."

"And why was that?"

"No reason." McCoy went back to scanning the dancers, and Jim wondered how a bit too much alcohol could turn a man who could bluff his socks off into the world's worst liar.

Five minutes later, he had just been abandoned by the doctor in favor of a certain blonde nurse when a familiar figure detached from the ever-changing sea of color and made his way toward him.

"Captain."

"Spock! I'm glad you decided to come." Jim surveyed his first officer, who was dressed in a black, robe-like tunic trimmed in silver Vulcan script. Dark colors always did agree with him, and the outfit emphasized how tall and slender he was. Spock often seemed a bit awkward with the way he carried his height, but you'd never know it in his current ensemble. "I haven't seen you wear this before."

"I met Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov on the way here. Both said that dress uniforms were not appropriate for this occasion, and insisted I allow them to see my wardrobe." Spock looked thoughtful for a moment. "I believe they were slightly inebriated."

"Nothing like a few pre-party drinks," Jim laughed. "It looks good." His heart rate kicked up a warp or two; complementing Spock on his appearance rather than his abilities tended to do that.

"Thank you, captain." Spock inclined his head, and there was the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes. "Traditional formal attire enhances your aesthetic appeal as well."

Jim's heart tripped a little, no doubt from running too fast. "You think so?"

Spock was no longer looking at him, but studying the crowds, and the tone of his next statement was impossible to read. "The tie makes the color of your eyes more apparent."

"It does?" Jim came to a painful awareness of how stupid he must sound, asking for confirmation of Spock's every statement. He tucked a finger under the collar of his dress shirt, tugging a little, feeling suddenly and terribly constricted.

"You sound surprised. I assumed that is why you chose it." Spock turned to face him again, and his tranquil expression faded to a frown. He reached up and straightened Jim's tie, which must have been pulled off-center in his feeble bid for air. It could have been his dizziness from the lack of oxygen, but Jim was fairly sure that if Spock were human, he'd be saying 'I can't take you anywhere.'

Cool Vulcan fingers skimmed against his chin as Spock withdrew his hands, and Jim swallowed thickly. "Spock, I–"

A rising, collective chant interrupted him, which was probably for the best, because Jim had no idea what he was about to say. "_Play, play, play!_"

Jim tore his eyes away from Spock to find that a grand piano had appeared at the base of one of the nearby windows. A bashful-looking Uhura and a far-from-bashful Trelane were standing in front of it, surrounded by a growing audience. She waved her hands to silence the crowd and took a seat on the bench.

"A duet, my lady?"

"I'd love to, but let's play something I know this time." Uhura cracked her knuckles and rested her fingers tentatively on the keys as Trelane took a seat beside her. "Waltz for Venus?"

"I'm not familiar," Trelane furrowed his brow. Suddenly sheet music popped into existence on the piano before him, and he gave it a cursory glance. "Now I am!"

He immediately swept off with an introduction, and Uhura leapt after him, her brow furrowed in concentration. They made for a spectacular sight, Uhura leading with the melody, Trelane crossing their hands as he wove flourishes around her with inhuman precision. Jim and Spock watched for a few minutes, but the display of Trelane's abilities only served to put Jim on edge again, snap him out of the complacency he had been developing over the past day. In the end, their rules meant nothing to such an entity, and they were at the mercy of his whims, whether it seemed that way or not.

He took Spock's elbow and led him behind a column so they were halfway out of Trelane's sight. The volume of the music was such that he had lean closer to Spock than he would have liked when he spoke. "Any progress since your last com?"

"Very little." Spock said into his ear. "I am looking into ways to nullify his abilities, but there is no precedent, and no adequate means to test a hypotheses."

"What about the energy signature? Is it possible to target that?"

"That is my current area of focus. However, as the human phrasing goes, it is 'easier said than done.'"

"What's the problem? Technical or theoretical?"

"Both. But even assuming my theory is correct, the technical limitations would be insurmountable." Spock lowered his voice so that Jim had to struggle to hear. "Also, I am functioning at 85% of my optimum efficiency due to sleep deprivation."

Before Jim could say 'I told you so,' the song came to an end, and the thunder of applause deafened him. By the time it died down, Trelane and Uhura were wading their way toward them through a sea of admirers, Trelane shooing away his fans to give them a clear path. He stopped in front of them with a grin that seemed to showcase every one of his teeth.

"Did you enjoy the performance, Captain?"

"It was breathtaking," Jim said, directing his smile at Uhura.

"And you, Mr. Spock?"

"It was technically proficient."

Uhura thanked them, gave Spock a teasing little curtsey, and excused herself to the refreshments table. Trelane watched her, apparently waiting until she was out of earshot. Then his impish eyes locked onto Spock, and Jim braced himself for another confrontation. "So tell me, Mr. Spock, if love isn't worthy of celebration, why are you here?"

"To exercise solidarity with a crew that is primarily human."

"Even though you find this whole affair meaningless in and of itself?"

"Yes."

"Then permit me my curiosity, because it has been perplexing me to no end. Why _is_ your race so dreadfully ascetic?"

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and squared his shoulders in his typical lecturing stance. "Vulcans were a violent, warlike people in the past. We were on the verge of self-destruction when we discovered the path of logic."

"And you renounced your every passion?"

"Our passions were not worth the suffering they caused."

"There wasn't a single one worthy of preservation?"

"What part of my statement implied that there was?"

Up until this point, Jim had been watching the verbal tennis game in silence and borderline amusement, but his nerves leapt to red alert when Trelane fell silent, and his smile faded. Jim started to step between the two men to break it up, but Trelane held up a hand, and he paused on the sidelines. "It's quite all right, Captain. I will be more direct in my line of inquiry." He frowned and tapped a thoughtful finger against his lips for a moment. "You are a man, aren't you?"

Spock rolled his eyes minutely. He would refuse to call it that, of course, but Jim knew better. "As I have already explained, I am a Vulcan."

"But you are male."

"Yes."

Trelane started to pace a circle around Spock, who remained like a statue, staring straight ahead. "Then don't you wish for someone to warm your bed? Bestow upon you the saucy looks of Caravaggio's models? Writhe beneath you like St. Sebastian?" His gaze skirted around Spock, flickering to Jim for half a second, like he knew a secret.

Spock frowned, utterly baffled. "Considering that St. Sebastian was killed by arrows, my answer is negative. I do not wish to inflict pain upon anyone."

Trelane gaped at Spock, then laughed uproariously. "Such a literal-minded fellow, isn't he! Ah, but how thin the line is between pain and pleasure," he mused, looking toward Jim with clear, wicked intent this time. "And what's a little death between friends?"

A cold sweat jumped to Jim's forehead. He knew. Somehow Trelane knew about the incident on Vulcan, about all the things Jim spent much of his day ignoring, and this had gone on far enough. Jim stepped into the fray to diffuse the situation before Trelane had his poor first officer running in circles, trying to pin down fragments of obscure metaphors.

"If you want to talk to Mr. Spock, you've got to be less anachronistic," he said, as casually as he could manage.

"Oh, do I?" Trelane looked down his nose at Spock. "Am I too sharp for him to keep up?"

"No," Spock said. "Merely outdated, underhanded, and overdramatic."

A wild thrill gripped Jim at that beautiful piece of smartassery – he loved it when Spock got to tell people off – but it was far from the most logical course of action. Which meant that Spock was angry enough to slip. Which, in Jim's experience, meant that something bad was bound to happen soon.

Trelane drew up to his full height and puffed out his chest like a bizarre, flamboyant pigeon. "Captain, will you _do _something! He insults me at every turn, and I tire of being treated thus!"

"Trelane, I explained this to you before–"

"What does he have to do for you to rebuke him? Call me an ugly whoreson of an honorless Klingon?"

"I won't rebuke him for having opinions."

"He may have his opinions, but at least command him to keep his disrespectful mouth shut about them! Are you the Captain, or aren't you?"

"Beyond the requirements of his position, he isn't mine to command."

Trelane let out a laugh practically oozing sarcasm. "Oh, isn't he?"

Spock inserted himself between them, partially blocking Trelane from Jim's view. "I request that you direct your anger toward me, not the Captain."

"Thank you, good sir, for illustrating my point," Trelane snorted.

"I was not aware that you had one," Spock said, and Jim wondered just how ridiculous he would look if he clamped a hand over his first officer's mouth and dragged him from the room.

"And I was not aware that a so-called logical species could revel in mockery like pigs in mud."

"I am not mocking you, Trelane. I am merely suggesting that your erratic behavior does not lend itself to clarity of communication," Spock said smartly. "Furthermore, if you are attempting to shame me for my heritage–"

"All right, all right, would you cease your blathering!" Trelane cried out, throwing up his hands. "I yield, you miserable nag of a creature. I yield!" He glowered at Jim and stormed off into the crowd that had assembled around their confrontation. Anxious murmuring ensued, and they began to disperse, but not before many a concerned and prying look was directed Jim and Spock's way.

In the aftermath, Jim took a moment to reflect on the new concerns that were gathering over his head like storm clouds. What he doesn't know can't hurt us, Scotty had said. But did Trelane truly know about Jim and Spock's history, or was he being metaphorical? Did he truly know about Jim's carefully buried interests, or was Jim's imagination running wild?

Meanwhile, Spock was busy looking downright pleased with himself, and Jim had half a mind to chew him out for being so reckless. He probably would have done it too, albeit discretely, if a slightly tipsy Sulu hadn't chosen that precise moment to show up.

"Commander Spock, looking good! What made you wear that, I wonder?" He winked, and Spock raised an eyebrow in dismay. "So Captain, have you got a minute?"

"Not exactly, no." Jim's eyes skimmed the multitude of his crew, but Trelane was nowhere in sight.

"Good. Because astrometrics has been on DeSalle's case for days, and I'm caught in the middle," Sulu said with a long-suffering sigh, completely oblivious. "We're going to be pass this weird pulsar system soon. Really energetic, but somehow it's got a planet."

That caught Jim's attention, because in his experience, words like that usually meant 'dangerous' when it came to the stellar scale. "When you say 'energetic'…"

"I mean throwing off an alphabet soup of radiation like nobody's business. So they want to study it, and DeSalle says it's too dangerous, but I know I can fly close enough without a problem. You just gotta stay out of the emission beams."

Jim turned to Spock for consultation, but the Vulcan had vanished during the brief moment that Jim had been distracted. Maybe it was because he had sensed the oncoming lecture, but if he had any logic at all, he would know that Jim wasn't going to let it go that easily. Jim wished briefly for genes that had never been a part of his family as he tried to peer over the mass of people and locate his wayward first officer.

Sulu kept on chatting about his piloting skills, none of which Jim doubted, but he didn't need to hear about them right now. "Mr. Sulu, maybe this isn't the best time to–"

"_Ladies and gentlemen!_" A voice boomed out over the ballroom, far louder than it ought to be. Jim spun around, and there was Trelane, commandeering a table in the center of the room. He was dressed in a white toga, with a pair of impressive feather wings strapped to his shoulders. "I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for a lovely evening."

Suddenly a recurve bow and an arrow appeared out of thin air. The arrow had a gold tip and was fletched with alarmingly pink feathers, and the bow was as red as Rand's garish lipstick. Trelane snatched up the hovering weapon, grinning maniacally, and nocked the arrow. The appalled and fearful roar in the room faded when he drew it, aimed down as he scanned the crew.

Jim recognized the arrow as a broadhead from his time spend on Tyree's planet. Meant for hunting, to cause maximum damage to the quarry. He marched over to the table, pushing a few frozen ensigns aside to get there. "Trelane," he said, trying to command the entity's attention long enough for someone to act. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Playing Cupid." Trelane's smile was anything but friendly as he gazed down at Jim.

"What do you mean by–"

"If you'd be so good as to humor me for a moment, captain." Trelane began to pace the broad tabletop, looking for all the world like a lion sizing up its prey. "What is the most powerful, overwhelming emotion amongst your species?"

"Is this some kind of joke?"

Trelane regarded him with less interest than a human would afford an ant. "The answer, of course, is love. That much is evident from the most superficial survey of your literature and art, and might I add, your ridiculous holidays."

All Starfleet command officers were trained in hostage negotiation. The problem was that none of said training was applicable to this situation. Trelane didn't want anything material. He couldn't be threatened. He couldn't be reasoned with. Jim steeled himself for the worst-case scenario. "Trelane, I order you to stop this nonsense right now!"

"And you, Captain, you love your crew more than your own life, I don't doubt that." Trelane resolutely ignored him again. "So what would you do if one of your beloved crew were to be, shall we say, overwhelmed?"

"Duel me again. You set the terms," Jim said in desperation, and many of the nearby crewmen gasped. "All you have to do is leave them out of this."

Trelane shook his head and tsked at Jim. "Don't be absurd. I'm past that stage of my existence."

"What are you, a coward?"

"Funny. I'd like to ask you the same thing." Trelane smirked, and his eyes left Jim to scan the terrified crew. "If only you had cut off the barbed tongues, captain. I must teach you a lesson somehow." He heaved a sigh, set his feet in a firm, stable stance, and took aim. "Ah, well. It's always fun when the mighty fall."

Jim noted in a burst of helpless anger that all of the phasers in the room, drawn by the security personnel, had been turned into bouquets of flowers. He made a desperate lunge for the table, along with several other crewmen, only to be knocked back by something invisible and very solid. One last coherent thought managed to reach him as all hell broke loose: where was Spock?

Without further ado Trelane spotted his target, squinted, and fired.

Jim's eyes followed the path of the arrow in horrified disbelief, like a man watching a chronic transporter failure, and for half a second the victim was unclear. There was a small crowd of frightened, yelling crewmen at that end of the room, and who had been hit wasn't immediately obvious.

Then Spock staggered out of the huddle, an arrow protruding from his chest, a thick wash of green blood spreading through the front of his uniform. He gaped at Jim, opened his mouth to say something, and promptly passed out. McCoy was at his side in an instant, shooting Jim a frantic look as he gestured for more help.

Jim bolted to a com station and slammed the button down. "Captain to sickbay. Medical emergency, rec lounge!"

Trelane vanished in a burst of light, leaving nothing behind but the echo of sinister laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter rating: M**

* * *

Every time Jim glanced at the biomonitor above Spock's bed his stomach gave a sickening little jolt, because the readings were in the red. Then he reminded himself that they were normal for Vulcans and calmed down, only to get an adrenaline burst all over again a few minutes later. Spock was well past the danger zone – the nurses had left not long ago – but Jim hated when Spock was injured, and hated it even more when the one responsible was at large.

He fought to keep a cool head and a light tone. If he didn't, he would probably commandeer Uhura's station and broadcast an angry challenge to Trelane over all known channels to every corner of the Federation. "I don't think he fully understood the concept of Cupid," he said, glancing at the bloodstained arrow on the surgeon's tray.

"That's one way of putting it," McCoy snorted. "Another way is the lazy, good-for-nothing child didn't do his homework and ought to be stuck in the corner with a dunce hat." He sighed as he reached for the dermal regenerator. "We should have gotten his parents' number last time. I would give them an earful they'd never forget."

"I don't doubt it," Jim said, and hesitated as he studied Spock's face. He could have been sleeping, if it weren't for the sickbay jumpsuit. There wasn't even a scar where McCoy had finished his work. "Well, we can't do anything about it now. Except put Trelane's face on the gaming room dart boards."

"Do that, and I might just turn pro." McCoy mimed throwing darts at the far wall with the regenerator, then turned to Jim with a sarcastic grin. "Hey, whaddya know? Bullseye, right on his stupid, pretentious nose." He set his instruments down a little too hard on the surgeon's tray and carried them over to the sterilizer.

"This is going to make for an interesting report," Jim said. "Dear Starfleet. Ran into that naughty little boy again. He meddled with my ship, terrorized my crew, crashed our Valentine's party by shooting my first officer with an ancient Terran weapon, then vanished without a trace. So how's the weather at HQ?"

"C'mon, Jim. You did the best anyone could under the circumstances."

"That's the problem. The best anyone can do is absolutely nothing. Only his own kind can keep him in check, and who knows where they are." Jim sank into a chair near Spock's bed, and got another minor heart attack from glancing at the biomonitors. "For God's sake, Bones, can't you recalibrate that damn thing?"

"What?"

Jim gestured at the offending panel. "If these readings are normal, set it as a baseline."

He realized how close to certifiable he must have sounded when Bones furrowed his brow and put on his concern face. "Sure, Jim. No problem," he said, in the soothing doctor's tone he used on jumpy patients. He tapped at a medical console, and Spock's readings settled into the green. "Look, I think you should get some rest. It's almost oh-two-hundred."

"Not until my first officer wakes up," Jim said. "He needs to know our current status."

"We can't tell for sure when he'll come out of the healing trance, especially with the sleep deprivation. He needs his rest even more."

"Bones, I can't just–"

"You were powerless, Jim," McCoy suddenly snapped. "You were powerless, and he hurt Spock. I know that kills you, but you've got to face the facts."

"I never should have believed him," Jim snarled back, twisting around in his chair to face McCoy. "I should have fought him every step of the way, but I didn't. I made the call. I decided to trust him." He realized he was shaking. With fury or anxiety, he wasn't sure.

"Things weren't going too bad before this. And you didn't act in a vacuum, Jim. The rest of us were willing to wait it out and see what happened."

"Except for Spock." Jim muttered, his eyes drawn back to his friend. He was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to touch Spock's forehead, brush the dark fringe of hair to the side, if only to see if it felt as silky as it looked.

"You've had a rough day," Bones was saying, somewhere in the distance. "Scotty has the con. Now go to bed, before I make it an order."

Jim allowed himself to be hauled up by his arm and pushed toward the door. "Call me the second he wakes up."

* * *

Jim was no stranger to work-related insomnia. He could go for weeks at a time without issue as long as they were in Federation space handling milk runs. That was rarely the case these days, as they ventured deeper and deeper into unknown territory, guided only by the readings of distant telescopes. The spectacular views of new planets and nebulae, successful first contacts, and the constant barrage of information often kept him awake with sheer excitement. The dangers were an altogether less pleasant trigger of sleepless nights.

The dangers were what plagued him now, and his mounting frustration at his restlessness only served to make it worse. If Trelane came back, he had to be at the top of his game, but tonight was one of those nights where every relaxation technique in the book failed him.

His first officer, his best friend, was incapacitated in sickbay, and the culprit could be anywhere and nowhere. Jim found himself trapped in a mental catch 22; whenever he forced Spock from his mind, he started worrying about Trelane, and whenever he ousted Trelane, his thoughts returned to Spock.

Severed artery, Bones had told him. Enough tissue damage to induce the trance. Fairly serious blood loss. They used up more than half of the blood Spock had banked over the last six months during the course of the operation. Jim could still see it through the darkness behind his eyelids, staining his shirt sleeves green as he applied pressure while McCoy and a small army of nurses set up the emergency operating theater. It just kept flowing, pouring over his hands. It wasn't the first time, and he knew it wouldn't be the last.

He'll be fine, Jim told himself, and rolled over to find a cool spot on his pillow. He's stable. All he needs is rest. He's going to be fine. It was only when he started to believe it that he realized reassuring himself was a bad idea. His mind stopped dwelling on Spock's health, and in his exhaustion, it was free to drift toward the roots of his concern.

Important colleague, he thought firmly. Valuable member of Starfleet. Loyal friend.

Warmth, his body whispered. Want. Magnetism, humming just beneath his everyday awareness. Jim was rarely attracted to men, so when it did happen, said attraction was persistent and distracting. But it was one thing to appreciate a married, 20th century Earth pilot from a safe distance, leaving him back in his own time. Appreciating a fellow Starfleet officer he saw every day, and a Vulcan one at that, was out of the question.

Yet he couldn't micromanage his brain, and more than once over the past year, he had dreamed of Spock in a nonsensical and decidedly nonprofessional context. They were stupid dreams, all covert shower glimpses and nudist planets and tight hiding spots. Within them he felt as awkward and embarrassed as a teenager, with even less sanity at his disposal, but the sheer amount of tension between his uncontrollable dream-self and Spock was always the same.

The first time it had spooked him for a week, so much so that he couldn't even look at his first officer without breaking into a sweat. After the second or third time, he started conjuring up excuses about his subconscious venting stress or frustration over a lack of intimate companionship. Mostly he just tried not to think about it. This was always more difficult at night, when nothing seemed quite as real as when he paced the bridge.

"_You're a very lonely man, aren't you, Captain?"_

No point in dwelling on something out of reach.

Jim rolled over to his side, his other side, his back, but nothing was even slightly comfortable. He huffed out a sigh, and tried to ignore the faint tightness of his briefs, but any attempts at distraction felt artificial. When there wasn't anything to do, no paperwork or planets or enemy ships, almost nothing could drag his attention away from his libido once it got even the slightest bit of momentum. How he even had a libido at all when he was so wrecked by stress was beyond him.

It had been a few days, he thought vaguely, and it did always help him sleep. But ever since that first alarming dream, it had become tricky to indulge in the sin of Onan without his mind wandering to places where it ought not go, should never go. Lately the constant reigning in of his imagination's whims made the experience more like a chore than anything else.

"_Don't you wish for someone to warm your bed? Bestow upon you the saucy looks of Caravaggio's models? Writhe beneath you like St. Sebastian?"_

Spock may not have fully understood the references, but Jim did. Images that had seemed merely amusing during an obligatory art history class many years ago were far more interesting than his younger self had given them credit for. After so much experience with the explicit, now it was the subtle that got under his skin more easily. And if he had to describe Spock in one word, it would be subtle.

No, Jim thought furiously. He was not doing this. He was not fantasizing about his friend, not ever, and especially not now. But all the same, the near miss today had only amplified his emotions, and the desires attached to them, to frightening levels. Because, after all, what if Spock had died? His willpower was brittle with fatigue, and his head spinning with doubt.

A quick glance at the clock informed him that at this point, he had to try something, unless he wanted to pass out and drool on the arm of his command chair tomorrow.

He gave up and pushed down his briefs to take himself in hand.

He focused his thoughts intently around Mia, an Orion girl from his academy days, one of his first and best lovers. She was the one who helped him get over his bookworm's embarrassment in those early years, who taught him how to talk about sex and revel in the act. He thought about the way her soft thighs tightened around him, the way her slender waist twisted in pleasure. The way she made him feel whenever she turned up the pheromones enough that they could spend all day in bed.

He fell into his usual rhythm; a few long, punishingly slow strokes followed by twice as many short, quick ones. Then stopping for a moment to build anticipation, teasing the head with his thumb, gathering the slickness there into his palm.

She'd probably dyed her hair again, he thought idly. It was never the same for more than a few months. Maybe it was darker now. He always thought she looked her best when it was black, set against her skin, flushed dark green with exertion.

He drew a finger into his mouth, then another, sucking gently for a few seconds as he lifted his knees and planted his feet flat on the bed. He worked them into himself, impatient, seeking out the spot that he knew would curl his toes and bow his back. But impatience could only carry him so far; finishing in five seconds wouldn't satisfy or wear him out in the slightest, so he walked a thin, agonizing line between too much and not enough.

Tonight, the version of Mia in his head was not aggressive or confident. Her hands were cautious, almost methodical, her kisses exploratory. She was asking him what he liked instead of telling him, her shyness mitigated by curiosity.

As he grew closer, his imaginings lost coherency, and everything dissolved into flashes.

Dark eyes. A low voice. Long fingers, coaxing him over the edge.

Whatever he sighed when he climaxed, there was no one to hear but the walls.

* * *

Jim reported to the bridge the next day, mildly exhausted, ill-tempered, and somehow more sexually frustrated than he had been the night before. It was as if the closer his body felt to death's doorstep, the more desperate it became to reproduce.

His bad mood was exacerbated by the fact that there was still no sign of Trelane, and there hadn't been the entire night. It was downright unnerving, like watching a horror holo where the music kept building as the main character made the brilliant decision to wander into the basement. Every time a particularly bright star passed through their field of view, Jim would look up sharply from whatever he was doing to make sure the light wasn't coming from an abrupt reappearance. He didn't believe for a minute that this nightmare was over.

In the meantime, he poured over Spock's notes on the scans they had been performing since Trelane's arrival. There was nothing to go by except what they had already gathered, what they already knew. Energy fluctuations might warn them if and where Trelane had offended the laws of nature, but his actual presence was invisible to their equipment.

But there was still that signature, that particular electromagnetic frequency exclusive to Trelane when he messed around with matter. Spock had a few comments on the phenomenon, including some that talked about the possibility of destructive interference, but all of his cautious conclusions stated that Trelane was too powerful for anything on the ship to take him down. Jim threw himself into physics concepts he hadn't used in years in his quest for understanding, the mental exercise keeping him a healthy distance from the deep end.

There was an effortless elegance to Spock's math. Maybe it was the product of aVulcan education, but Spock used shortcuts Jim had never seen before, equations that must have been his own invention. He accounted for every variable with notation so compact and clear that Jim was tripped up by his disbelief that it could be so simple. Spock's approach was meticulous, as deep as it was broad, and yet…

Jim was reminded of the first chess game he ever won against Spock, all the more memorable for the fact that he had given up on winning altogether. He had moved with reckless and random whims for the first half of the game, and Spock, in his bewilderment, began to make mistakes. He kept searching for a pattern in Jim's chaos, when the chaos _was _the pattern. Jim could still visualize every move, but it was Spock's face he remembered the most.

He was so absorbed in the memory that he almost jumped when Scotty's voice sounded over the bridge com. /Captain Kirk? Are you there?/

Jim took a moment to blink away the afterimages of numbers and Greek letters before picking out the com button on the arm of his chair. "Go ahead, Mr. Scott."

The second's worth of hesitation spoke volumes. /I'm down on G deck, sir. We have a wee bit of a problem./

"I'm on my way."

It took a tremendous amount of resolve to pass by sickbay without so much as a glance inside, but Jim managed to pull it off, partly to avoid the appearance of favoritism and partly out of a multifaceted guilt complex. He located Scotty at the entrance to the former lounge as he was telling Chekov yet another part of his tour story.

"…the bastard offspring of a kraken, a gorn, and a mugato."

"I do not believe you! How is such a thing possible?"

Then Scotty spotted him and nudged Chekov with his elbow so the ensign turned around. The two of them sobered immediately, and Jim realized what they had been engaged in was akin to gallows humor. Over the years, he had learned how to tell the severity of the ship's problems based on the creases of Scotty's face, and right now the chief engineer was old before his time.

"Captain. We weren't sure until a few minutes ago, but… the hull is destabilizing," Scotty said. "We'll have to drop out of warp soon."

Jim channeled his anger into clenched fists, which made him feel slightly better, and slightly less likely to start shouting at innocent bystanders. "Trelane?"

Scotty nodded and turned to Chekov. "Tell him, laddie."

"As far as we know, he extended zhe warp field beyond its maximum range to fit zat ballroom inside." Chekov explained. "But since he disappeared, it has been contracting again. Putting stress on zhis side of zhe hull. When it becomes too small to fit zhe room…" He cupped his hands together and tore them apart in an explosive gesture.

"The bubble bursts." Jim concluded. "We can't warp without tearing off half the ship."

"Worse than that, sir. We'll barely have impulse. I cannae make her go any real speed with a tumor of half-baked construction sprouting from her side." Scotty laid a hand on the nearby bulkhead. "Poor girl."

"How long will this take to fix?"

Scotty glanced away thoughtfully before he spoke, which was never a good sign. "At least two days, sir," he said, after what was likely an impressive bout of mental gymnastics. "And we'll have to seal off half of decks G and H to do it. We cannae risk an air or gravity leak, not this far from a starbase."

An inconvenience, maybe, but the warp situation was worse. They would be dead in the water, open to whatever dangers lurked in this unknown portion of the quadrant. "Perfect," Jim muttered. "And how long before we have to stop?"

"About six hours, Keptan."

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His head was overflowing with this new knowledge, with Spock's notes, the conflict between navigation and astrometrics, a long-past chess match, but most of all, with Trelane's mysterious absence. What was he waiting for? What kind of prankster shocked their victim with a handshake buzzer and didn't wait around to see their reaction?

The kind who still had something up his sleeve. When the dust settled, Trelane would be there, but for now, it was Jim's move.

He marched over to the nearest com station and opened a channel. "Bridge, this is the captain speaking. Mr. Sulu, lay in a direct course for the PSR C50312 system, warp eight."

/Sir? That course has been rejected three times./

"And now it's approved. Executive order," Jim said. "ETA, Lieutenant?"

/Five point six two hours, sir./

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "Just what I wanted to hear. Get Lieutenant DeSalle and meet me in the conference room in ten."

/Yes, sir./ Jim admired Sulu's ability to sound baffled after all that had happened these past few days.

"Lieutenant Uhura, contact Starfleet and tell them we've run into some technical difficulties. We won't be reaching Vallar 3 on schedule."

/What if they ask for more details, Captain?/

Jim rubbed his jaw in frustration. A few curious bureaucrats back at their comfy desks were the least of his worries. "I don't know. Blow into the mic and tell them they're breaking up," he said, and shut off the com link.

"Sir, don't you think we should backtrack?" Scotty said cautiously. "Stick to familiar territory while we're belly-up?"

"Familiar is the last thing we need, Mr. Scott." Jim said, turning sharply away from the panel. "Trelane isn't gone for good. It's not his style. He'll be back to gloat soon enough, and I intend to roll out the welcome mat."

That put the old fire back into Scotty's eyes. "I'm not sure what you have in mind, sir, but sign me up!"

"Then stabilize the eyesore, and make sure the shields are in top shape. If this works, you'll have all time in the world to fix her up later." He clapped Scotty on the shoulder, and the chief engineer gave him the solemn nod of a soldier before battle. "Chekov, you're with me."

"Yes, Keptan."

He led the _Enterprise's _resident prodigy toward the turbolift, but halfway there he couldn't stand the uncertainty and suspense any longer. He stopped in an alcove, asked to see Chekov's PADD, and called up Spock's data files, complete with a few new annotations.

"Read this, ensign."

Chekov studied his notes for a minute or two, his face screwed up in concentration, and Jim waited, drumming his fingers against his thigh. Finally Chekov looked up, and he spoke slowly, like he was reluctant to critique his superior officer's efforts. "Keptan, none of zhese wavelengths are specific enough. I do not see how zhey will cancel out Trelane's frequency."

"That's because they won't," Jim said. "It's not about winning, ensign. It's about making him lose."

Chekov's face lit up with understanding. "Not cancel out," he said. "Drown out."

"That's the idea." Jim couldn't help but echo Chekov's infectious smile. "Now let's go. I have a bet to make with Sulu."

* * *

About an hour into afternoon shift, McCoy finally called him into sickbay with the message he'd been waiting to hear. When Jim got the com, he was busy helping Scotty's team with the reinforcement efforts, and he practically threw his blowtorch at DeSalle in his haste to answer the summons. He made himself stop to catch his breath before entering sickbay, so he wouldn't look quite as frazzled as he felt after jogging across G deck.

"He's awake?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up from his desk full of paperwork. "Hi, Jim. I'm just peachy, thanks for asking. How are you?"

"Bones."

"Go see for yourself." McCoy waved him through to the half-circle of biobeds beyond the divider, where a somewhat disheveled but awake Spock was reclining against his pillows.

"Jim." Spock's face was strangely open and unguarded, and he graced Jim with the most brilliant Vulcan eye-smile he had seen in a long time. It was more than a little pleasant, but Jim had spent the better part of three years ignoring the soft warmth and contentment that flooded through him at times like this, so he started to shove it to the back of his mind.

But then Spock slowly turned his palm up, and shifted his arm toward Jim's side of the bed. He glanced from his hand to Jim in a silent but unmistakable request.

Too relieved to overanalyze, Jim took Spock's hand and squeezed it in his own. It felt good to touch like this, a gesture with no purpose other than mutual affection. "You're all right?"

Spock was quiet for what felt like a long time. He closed his eyes and weakly clasped Jim's hand in return, as if he too were savoring the sensation of the touch. "I believe so."

"Once again, his backwards hobgoblin anatomy saved his life," McCoy piped up from where he was digging through a supply cabinet behind them. "Good thing no one who shoots him with archaic weapons bothers to do their research first."

"Ah, yes. Trelane." Spock seemed to come to his somewhat confused senses. His face grew stern, and he let go of Jim's hand, trying to sit up. McCoy somehow made it across the room in time to shove him back down, which shouldn't have been as easy as it looked, a testament to Spock's current state.

"Hold it right there. I have you off duty for the next twenty-four hours."

"That will not be necessary, Doctor."

"Don't tell me what's necessary! You were hurt badly enough to bring on your Vulcan mumbo-jumbo. I'm not letting you out of here with a band-aid and a lollypop."

"The termination of the healing trance means I am fully recovered."

"It would, if you had actually been sleeping right. But your hormone levels were all sorts of crazy when you went under, because you do things like stay up for a week at a time!"

Jim found himself caught between two equally imploring and exasperated stares. He didn't feel like arguing with either of them, so he resorted to protocol. "I'm sorry, Spock, but if the good doctor says you're off duty, you're off duty."

Spock made a vague noise that could have been either protest or assent, and McCoy muttered something under his breath that sounded like 'impossible pointy-eared demon.' The doctor stalked back into his office, motioning for Jim to follow. "Come over here and take a look at his charts."

Jim passed behind the divider, glancing over his shoulder, distracted. "Is it really bad enough for–"

He turned around and almost collided with McCoy, who seized his arm and leaned in close. "Listen to me," he whispered fiercely. "I don't have any idea what's going on around here, and he shouldn't either."

"Bones, I–"

"I mean it, Jim. Keep him out of the loop. You know he'll look for any excuse to start running laps around the ship."

Jim lowered his voice to object. "I can't lie to him."

"I'll take care of that. Just reassure him you've got everything under control."

"But I don't–"

"_Everything is under control_. Now go." McCoy gave him a little push, and Jim barely caught himself before he stumbled out from behind the divider.

The fact that Spock looked more tired than suspicious of the secretive conversation only emphasized the truth behind McCoy's insistence. While Jim longed for Spock's input, even if he wouldn't agree with plan and made the whole team backpedal, Spock was in no shape to exert himself. Jim cleared his throat and strode back over to the biobed.

"He's right, you know. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Yes, Captain." Spock said blandly.

"What happened to you at the party, anyway? Before all this, I mean?"

"I left you when Sulu presented a distraction, to avoid reprimand. I was stricken with paralysis as Trelane began to speak." Spock frowned faintly. "Where is he?"

"He's gone. We don't know why." Jim called upon his best poker face. "Maybe his parents nabbed him again. Maybe he got bored of us. I'm not one to question a good thing."

"It would not be an tremendous surprise," Spock said, sinking back into his pillows a bit and staring at the ceiling. "He is nothing if not inconstant. And our current status?"

Fortunately, McCoy moved in for backup, handing Spock a PADD. "Right here."

Spock scanned the readout for a few tense seconds, but for reasons lost on Jim, he found it acceptable. He nodded and returned it to McCoy without comment, and the doctor strolled back to his duties, looking self-satisfied. Jim was perplexed, but he forced himself to bite the bullet and finish what McCoy had started. "Don't worry. Everything is under control."

Incredibly, that placated Spock enough for him to drop the topic. He seemed to drift for a few seconds, obviously straining to keep his eyes open, but then he shifted and managed to focus on Jim again. "In any case, assuming that Trelane does not reappear, would you accompany me to dinner tonight?" He glanced toward McCoy's office. "If the doctor doesn't bar the way out, that is."

"Of course, if you think you're up to reassuring everyone." Nobody involved with their little project would be there anyway.

"I should clarify. I meant in my quarters."

"Even better." Jim nodded, and resisted the urge to touch Spock's hand again. "But only if you rest until then."

Spock regarded him for a moment, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Yes, Jim."

"Get to work on that."

It was only when Jim departed from sickbay that he noticed Spock hadn't offered an excuse for the private dinner. Nine times out of ten, he suggested they go over department reports on such an occasion, or crew promotions, or debriefing materials. At the very least, he proposed a game of chess, or perhaps _kal-toh_, which consisted mostly of Jim staring at the board until Spock pointed out the right moves.

Then again, the man hadn't slept in days. He was only half-Vulcan, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter rating: PG-13**

* * *

Jim emerged from his second meeting with Sulu, DeSalle, Chekov, and a few of the top scientists from astrophysics and astrometrics, not sure whether to feel discouraged or hopeful. They all agreed it was worth a shot, but like Spock, they kept talking about variables; namely, how many there were. An inordinate amount of time was spent on unknowns, which seemed a little silly to Jim, because it wasn't like they were rolling in backup plans.

Bits of their debates simmered in his head as he paced the bridge. He wouldn't be surprised if he wore a path through the carbonium floor tiles before this was over.

_"What if he adjusts too quickly?"_

_"How could he adjust? He'll have a hell of a time finding a frequency that isn't surrounded by noise."_

_"We'll have to stay at least one AU away from the danger zone."_

_"Not good enough. If we're doing this, we should cut it as close as possible."_

_"But one wobble and we fly straight into the emission beams!"_

What Jim clung to now was Sulu's response to the all-important question that had closed out their first, more sanguine meeting. It was a small comfort to him when faced with the brilliant, flashing beacon that currently loomed on the main viewer, throwing off long streamers of dust. He frowned at the navigator's station for a moment, then crossed the bridge to stand at his lieutenant's side, his movements made jerky by the light of the pulsar. "Mr. Sulu?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I need to hear it again," he said. "Can you do it?"

"Pilot an unbalanced, unshielded starship at 10% impulse power in orbit around a deadly star while being pummeled by its magnetic field?" Sulu's smile may have been forced, but his bravado was irrepressible. "In my sleep, sir."

"Oh, Captain!" Uhura cried out from her station. "You have to hear this." She tapped a few buttons on her panel, and the frenzied rhythm of the cosmic whirling dervish filled the bridge.

There was nothing Jim could compare it to. Like an old Terran helicopter, but not exactly. Like the sound of the prototype warp cores he had seen tested back at starbase one, but much faster and more metallic. Once upon a time he had been to a few Orion raves, and bizarrely, the music of those dark clubs was the closest resemblance he could come up with.

"It's beautiful," Uhura said dreamily. "Like drums. Like a heartbeat."

"If that's what your heartbeat sounds like, I think you should pay a visit to sickbay," Sulu chuckled over his shoulder.

Jim couldn't decide if he liked it or not, but at any rate, that sound might become their salvation.

He went on patrol for awhile, checking up on the plan's progress. The ball room stabilization was going smoothly. They were circling in on their destination. The flight plan was laid out, the sensors programmed, and the trap was set. There was nothing to do now but wait for Trelane to return to the scene of the crime, and Jim was glad he had plans to keep himself occupied until their target made himself known.

He reported to Spock's room at eighteen hundred hours, and found his first officer noticeably more awake, dressed in his uniform pants and a black undershirt. The lights seemed a bit dim, but Spock's senses were probably still recovering from their shock. There was a rich, spicy scent lingering in the air that Jim recognized as Vulcan incense, although it was a variety he had never smelled before. He was glad when Spock greeted him that the Vulcan wasn't in on their plan, because now Spock's room was a haven from the rest of the ship.

"Did you have a good nap?" Jim took his seat at the desk-turned-table while Spock started up the synthesizer.

"I must admit that the doctor's simplest prescriptions are often his best ones." Spock retrieved the food and placed their trays onto the table. Jim surveyed the bowl of colorful, seasoned root vegetables and poked a bit with his fork.

"This looks familiar."

"It is a Vulcan dish that you found favorable at the Babel Conference. I programmed the replicator with the closest equivalent ingredients."

Spock watched expectantly as Jim took the first taste. A hint of citris bloomed high in his nose, and the overall bitter-sweetness refreshed his palate. The flavor was just as appealing as he remembered it. "This is delicious," he murmured.

"It is a close mimic," Spock conceded.

Their conversation stayed light throughout the meal. Whatever Bones had done to mislead Spock in sickbay, it was working beautifully, because he didn't ask a single question about their status. Jim grew more and more at ease, Trelane slipping from the forefront of his mind as they discussed everything from academy roommates to the _Enterprise's_ unsung discoveries over a simple yet satisfying meal. They talked long after they were finished eating, and Jim almost forgot that by this point, Sulu's skills were all that stood between them and a fiery oblivion.

After awhile, Spock moved to clear the dishes, rejecting any offers for help. Jim settled back in his chair and unwound, content just to be as he studied the wood grain of Spock's desk.

"I have something for you."

"Please don't say it's dessert, because I can't eat another bite."

But when he glanced up from the table, Spock was holding out a book. Jim took it almost automatically, too puzzled to raise any immediate questions.

_The Verses of Saldek_, the cover read, translated by Dr. Jana Carter. Jim turned it over in his hands, admiring the exquisite red fabric, the gold leaf lettering in both English and Vulcan. There was an iridescent sheen to the cloth binding that flashed when he held it at certain angles. "Spock, I…" He stumbled and tried again. "I don't know what to say."

"It is approximately nineteen point three hours late." Spock developed an abrupt interest in the floor, and it took Jim a few seconds to draw his attention away from the book long enough to understand that statement.

"You meant to give it to me yesterday?"

"After the party, yes."

"But why?"

"Gift-giving is customary on St. Valentine's Day, is it not?"

Jim hesitated, unable to interpret Spock's blank face, neutral tone, and avoidance of eye contact. How could someone so exact have missed such an important detail of the holiday? "Well yes," Jim began cautiously, "but only between people who are romantically involved."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "I am aware of that stipulation."

A surreal silence ensued, crushing and wrong.

Jim had never imagined that McCoy's voice could sound like a choir of angels until that moment.

Spock actually let out a sigh, and an agitated one at that. "Can it wait, doctor?"

Don't make me pull rank on you. You've got one minute. The com beeped as it disconnected.

"I will return shortly," Spock said, and looked at Jim, inscrutable. "You may remain here if you wish." He was gone without another word.

Jim stared after him for a long time, then opened the book to the translator's preface and started to read.

_For those who are uninitiated in an admittedly insular field_, TheVerses of Saldek_ represent the epitome of pre-reform Vulcan poetry. They consist of three cantos, each one centered around an element of the relationship known as _t'hy'la_, the joining of souls that surpasses even bondmateship._

His heart convulsed with the seeds of panic, and he skimmed ahead, seeking some kind of amendment.

_The last canto_, Spirals in the Sand, _is well-known for its passionately erotic description of _pon farr_ between two warriors. It begins in the metaphorical fire, violent and merciless in both prose and rhythm, and ends with, as Saldek writes, "the sweet voice of water" and "the cool veil of shade."_

No, Jim thought, and he slammed the book shut, practically flinging it onto his desk as if it were poisoned. He started to pace the room, each step a fresh denial. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. It was too absurd. Yet there was no other explanation for strangeness of Spock's behavior, except a certain uninvited guest, and a certain golden arrow.

His mind scrambled for a foothold against this awful epiphany. Why Spock? Almost as soon as he had asked himself the question, he knew the answer.

Trelane was the antithesis of Spock. He resented everything Spock was, from his rigid adherence to logic and ethics, to his strict emotional control. Unsurprisingly, he had figured out the best way to attack Spock was to make him lose those qualities he cherished most. And Trelane already knew that attacking Spock was the best way to attack Jim. He got to kill two birds with one stone.

Jim tried desperately to calm down and prepare himself for the ensuing confrontation, but this was different. This couldn't be fixed by a little sawing and welding, by the crazed spin of a pulsar. Suddenly their grand scheme wasn't so critical or thrilling after all.

Here was the ace up Trelane's sleeve, and Jim had nothing but twos and threes in his hand.

He was still shaking when the door slid open again. "Spock, I need to tell you something," he blurted out before Spock was hardly two steps into the room.

Spock appeared taken aback by his outburst, but he recovered quickly. A hint of concern played over his features, but otherwise, he was completely unruffled. "I have something to tell you as well."

Jim had to speak up, had to say what he knew. You aren't thinking clearly. Trelane did this to you. You don't really feel this way. Instead, he succumbed to his Achilles' heel, and said the words that could ruin them forever. "You first."

Spock bowed his head and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Please understand that I had intended for things to go differently," he said. "Over the past two days I have behaved in a manner inappropriate to my station, and I wish to apologize."

"Don't say that. What happened wasn't your fault," It was my mistake, Jim thought. My fault for caring too much, so much that our enemies could notice.

"I was illogically confrontational, and I paid the price," Spock countered. "But that is not the issue at hand." He hesitated, and met Jim's gaze with an earnest intensity. "Jim, I cannot express… that is to say, it is difficult for a Vulcan…"

Jim knew, that very instant, how the encounter was going to end. He knew, and yet he couldn't make himself believe it, the same way he knew how transporters worked but never quite accepted that his atoms were being disassembled when it happened. So he could only stand there, an observer in his own body, as his first officer gave up on words and took a deliberate step into his space.

When Spock moved to kiss him, Jim tilted his chin and closed his eyes.

So shy, and so sweet. Spock pressed his lips to Jim's with the same careful precision he applied to everything he did. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, he barely even parted his lips, and it was over so fast that it was near platonic, but Jim was still gripped by a shudder that threatened the stability of his knees. He could not have been more overwhelmed if Spock had grabbed him, dipped him, and planted one on him like that old photograph from the end of Earth's second world war.

Jim always thought his reputation as a connoisseur of alien women was not entirely deserved. In this day and age, who hadn't kissed a half-dozen species? But for all his experiences, both varied and rewarding, there was nothing quite like this, no frame of reference. It felt so good, and the euphoria lingered long after the touch was gone.

He opened his eyes to find Spock watching him, his eyes soft, close enough that Jim could feel the Vulcan's warm breath against his face.

Jim drew back, even though his every natural instinct was screaming for him to close the gap again. "Spock," he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Jim, I…" Spock's expression shifted, and he looked positively broken. "I thought…"

"I'm so sorry." Jim repeated, and left as quickly as he could, before he lost sight of himself, of the upstanding captain he had to preserve.

A half-dozen quick strides down the hall and he was at his own quarters. Not far enough for comfort, but there was nowhere else to go. He entered his darkened room, closed his eyes, and stood in the threshold for a moment, struggling to get his bearings. "Doors lock." He muttered, and slumped against the solid surface. "Lights, seventy percent."

There was Trelane, sitting in Jim's chair, reading one of Jim's books, his feet propped up on Jim's desk.

Jim had been expecting this all day, but that didn't mean he was prepared for the reality of the situation. A very special and unique kind of anger washed over him, the kind that had seized him during Kodos' visit to the Enterprise, and while hunting the creature that wiped out the _U.S.S._ _Farragut_. It was precise, it was obsessive, and it was most certainly reckless.

"What did you do?"

Trelane didn't even glance up from the book, and Jim noticed with a fierce pang that it was the _Verses of Saldek_. "I have numerous accomplishments to my name, dear Captain. You'll have to be a bit more specific."

Jim stormed across the room and shoved Trelane's boots, knocking his legs off the desk and twisting him halfway around in the chair. He actually looked surprised, but Jim didn't have time to savor the trivial payback. "_What _did you _do_? The arrow. My first officer."

"I thought it was obvious." Trelane smiled wickedly. "It's your species' mythology, after all. I was merely putting it to good use." He placed the book down and brushed his hands together. "Funny little volume. And good show, by the way. It's no wonder you're alone when a mere kiss sends you into full retreat."

Blood pounding in his ears, Jim aimed a punch at that smug, evil face. His fist passed right through Trelane, whose form was no more solid than a hologram. Jim recovered his sanity and backed away a few steps, wondering if that minor magic trick was enough for the scanners to pick up Trelane's presence. Enough to set off the trap. But Sulu had told him he would be able to tell when the shields dropped and the radiation flooded in, and yet nothing was happening.

The door chimed, and a voice sounded through Jim's quarters, hushed and pleading. /It's Spock. May I come in?/

Jim shot a warning look at Trelane. "Don't."

A burst of light, and there was Spock, standing in the middle of his room, one hand raised as if he were about to press the button again. "My timing really is impeccable, isn't it?" Trelane said, mostly to himself.

Full teleportation, and still nothing. Jim teetered on the verge of outright dread. What was going on? Why weren't they dropping the shields?

"Trelane," Spock said evenly. "Why have you returned when you are no longer welcome?"

"I'm here to witness the fruits of my retaliation, of course!" He crossed his arms and smirked at Jim. "I'm sure the Captain thinks they're ripe."

Something within Jim snapped, and every scrap of his stubborn arrogance shattered. He couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't keep a grip on his resolve when his first officer's mind was being manipulated and abused right in front of him. "I don't want this. Please, Trelane. I don't want this."

"But you do." Trelane clapped his hands and rubbed them together as only a villain could. "That's what makes it such great _fun!_"

"I want Spock. If you do this to him, he isn't Spock."

"What has been done to me?"

"He's meddled with your emotions." There it was. What he should have said ten minutes ago, and now it was too late.

"I've reduced you to this, you fool! Falling for a human!" Trelane laughed riotously, and Jim's stomach churned with grief and rage.

"Jim, please hear me," Spock said urgently, touching Jim's shoulder. "My will is my own."

It hurt like hell to do, but Jim jerked away from Spock. "I know it seems like that. And Spock, I wish it were true. But it's not. He's using you against me, like before. The dinner, the book– "

"I have had the _Verses_ in my possession for some time, Jim," Spock interrupted, still marvelously composed. "I had planned to give them to you on an appropriate occasion in order to, I believe the correct expression is, 'drop a hint.'" He gave Jim the vaguely troubled look he always wore when he was uncertain of a human idiom, and waiting for confirmation.

Jim was utterly thrown off by this version of events. "You planned it? When?"

"Approximately four months, three days, and six hours ago," Spock said. "That was when I saw the book available on a Vulcan colony. You may verify my purchase records if you wish."

And that, right there, was an undeniable piece of logic. Spock was offering evidence in a calm, rational manner, albeit to support an irrational claim. Jim was rendered momentarily speechless by the paradox.

"It was not merely tonight," Spock continued, his voice even more steady, as if he were emboldened by his own arguments. "I have been actively attempting to seduce you for the past two point five days."

"What?" Trelane cut in, voice oddly flat. They ignored him.

More logic. The massage in the computer labs, their exchanges before the party was crashed. Other moments over the past weeks, perhaps fewer and farther between, but similar in tone. Had such attentions come from anyone else, Jim would have instantly recognized them as flirtation, but he hadn't let himself believe it, coming from Spock. He still couldn't believe it, not after so many years spent pining from a distance. "Are you sure?"

Spock thought for a second or two. "I suppose there is no way I can be 'sure,' but for my assertions to be incorrect, both of our memories would have required significant alteration."

"And if Trelane knows so little about Vulcan culture, how could he have invented the book?" Jim added to convince himself further.

"Wait a minute, wait just a minute! What are you two dithering on about?"

"Indeed." Some of the tension in Spock's face softened when he saw that Jim was coming around to his arguments. "I should have postponed my advances in light of recent circumstances, but–"

"_Would you sorry mortals be silent!_" They both turned to Trelane, who looked for all the world like a child who had just been told he couldn't have dessert. "What is this? Where is the madness? The fervor of Apollo for Daphne? Where is the ravishment?"

This time it was Jim's turn for fundamental confusion. "What?"

Trelane leapt up from his chair and jabbed an incredulous finger at Jim. "You mean to tell me that being pierced by a gold arrow does _not _inspire violent and involuntary love?"

"It inspires injury," Spock supplied. "Significant loss of productivity."

"No, no, no! Don't you ugly bags of mostly water have some kind of, oh blast what do you call it," Trelane gestured wildly, "biochemical reaction to gold projectiles? Neotransfritters or some such nonsense?"

Jim exchanged a glance with Spock, who appeared just as helplessly puzzled as him. "Not exactly, no."

"So everything he did was because he _wanted_ to?"

"Yes," Spock answered this time, with a firm glance at Jim.

Trelane sputtered and mouthed at them like a fish out of water. "That's no fun. That's no fun at all." He crossed his arms and stalked toward the corner, grumbling to himself.

"You can't control feelings." Jim murmured, the realization dawning on him like the first day of spring. Trelane could make passable food and a spectacular ball room, but a person was far more complicated than a pear. In this area he remained all surface and no substance. "You can't control our minds, can you?"

"Of course I can't! Why else would I have resorted to your mythos to stir things up?" Trelane threw his hands up in dismay. "Really, Captain, I'm twelve million, not twelve hundred million."

Jim had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he was too high on his relief to care. "You mean to say you aren't responsible for this at all?"

"So it would seem," Trelane spat.

"Fascinating," Spock said. "You play with the universe, yet you still have no real understanding of how it works."

"Oh bravo, you nitwits. Your insight is astonishing. Why do you think I've been traveling for the past few eons? It takes time to learn the minutiae of atomic interactions." Trelane shook his head, visibly collected himself, and tugged at his preposterous blue coat. "No matter. No matter. I'll just have to punish you some other way."

This was either very bad, or very good. Unless some drunk ensign had recalibrated the sensors to detect puppies, there was no possible way Jim's team wouldn't pick up on whatever Trelane was about to do. Go on, he thought grimly. Try it.

But before Trelane could do a thing, the ship began to tremble. Souvenirs and knickknacks crashed down from the shelves, and Jim braced himself with the instincts of a long-time San Francisco resident. He wove his fingers through the holes in the room divider and grabbed Spock's arm, steadying the Vulcan as he stumbled toward the desk. The shaking abruptly peaked in violence, enough that Jim would have hazarded a guess at 5.0 on the Richter scale, and Trelane toppled over with a cry of distress.

All at once, the shaking stopped, and Jim cautiously let go of the divider and Spock. He held his breath as he studied their undignified, bedraggled lump of guest, sprawled out on his floor.

Trelane's eyes were comically wide as he got to his feet. He blinked rapidly, and for several seconds, pawed at the air like mime trapped in a box. It was a marvelous thing to watch. "What… what the devil... this isn't right." He closed his eyes in concentration and flinched once, then again, harder. "This can't be! Where is it?"

Sulu's voice over the com, drained and concerned. /Shields are down, Captain. Everything okay in there?/

"We're doing fine." Jim leaned against the divider a second longer, catching his breath. "What took you so long?"

/Sorry about that, sir. Had a few issues getting into position, but we're holding steady now. Have I mentioned I hate magnetic fields?/

"See that we stay that way, Mr. Sulu. Kirk out." Jim crossed his arms and relished the sensation of his battered ego returning to life, helped along quite nicely by Trelane's frantic flailing. Not a trapped mime, he thought. A cat chasing a laser. "Looking for something?"

"I… but how… that was my favorite wavelength! What did you do with it?" Trelane's voice rose to a hysterical pitch as he rounded on Jim. "Give it back right now!"

"You'll have to take that up with the pulsar," Jim said.

"What?" Trelane howled. "That's not fair! You're not playing fair!"

"A pulsar, Captain?" Simply hearing the characteristic intrigue in Spock's tone made Jim's sense of relief complete. "PSR C50312, perhaps?"

Jim nodded. "Exactly that."

"Captain, how did you…"

"I read your notes," Jim shrugged. "I just extrapolated a little."

"My notes were not at the point of a coherent hypothesis."

"But a hunch from you is worth more than a statement of fact from most people."

"A hunch, Captain?" Spock tried to look offended, but he sounded pleased.

"How could you not know where we were, anyway? I thought you checked our new heading in sickbay."

Spock's expression soured. "I did. I believe the doctor supplied me with obsolete data on our status." He shook his head and gave Jim a meaningful look. "And I have been distracted by a variety of other concerns."

Meanwhile, Trelane had slouched his way back into Jim's chair, where he proceeded to wallow in self-pity. All throughout their discussion, he kept moaning things like 'woe is me' and quoting from what sounded like the Book of Job. When he noticed he had an audience again, he stopped to address them directly, ever the thespian. "I think I may just have underestimated you, Captain." He buried his face in his hands. "How embarrassing! I'll never live this down."

"I'm sure you'll forgive yourself," Jim said. "A few million years is a long time."

Trelane made an abstract, meaningless noise not unlike the wail of a dying bison. "Oh, what are you going to do with me?"

"We'll drop you off on the planet orbiting this lovely little star. It's totally barren, but I'm sure you'll figure out a way to escape eventually," Jim said, feeling strangely paternal now that he had the high ground. "You could use the challenge, Trelane."

"Pah! There's enough of a challenge simply trying to understand your blasted culture." Trelane retorted with a disdainful air. "Centuries of stories, and not a grain of truth. Next you'll be telling me chocolate doesn't cause hysterical paroxysm in your females."

Jim shot a puzzled glance at Spock, whose posture was unusually stiff. "I believe he is referring to product advertisements."

"That isn't a true depiction either?"

"No," Jim said, frankly amazed. Not that he was complaining; powerless and gullible suited Trelane very well. "Didn't you watch anyone eat at the party?"

"But… but it's… all the time, on your holo feeds, and…" Trelane stared blankly, then slammed a palm against his forehead. "Holy quarking gluon, your species is _impossible_! How do you even _exist_ without caving into the vacuous black holes in your heads?" He shoved his way past Jim and stomped for the door which, still being locked, failed to open. "Fie me! Get me out of here, I beg of you. Cast me onto the wasteland planet, posthaste!"

* * *

Trelane's tantrum burned out by the time the shuttlecraft was ready for him, and he remained cooperative, if somewhat snippier than usual, throughout the whole affair. Scotty passed Jim and Spock as they led their guest through the ship's corridors one last time, and he waved the shuttle's dismantled shield generators and fuel conduits at them with a triumphant smile. Trelane would find no safe harbor out in the sea of radiation.

They arrived at the shuttlebay, and Trelane paused at the entrance of the room with Jim and Spock, sizing up his one-way vehicle. He seemed to sink deep into his thoughts, and Jim was surprised he was capable of being so solemn.

"I did enjoy my stay here. Truly, I did," he said suddenly. It was the most genuine tone Jim had ever heard coming from his mouth. "It got so dull, being stuck around omniscients thrice my age all the time. They look down on me because I can't make quasars or alter the fabric of space-time yet. Can you imagine? No, I suppose you can't."

And there went the humility, right out the window. Oh well, Jim thought. It was nice while it lasted. He sighed and stuck out his hand. "Are we even?"

Trelane sized him up for a tense moment, but then he flashed a weary smile, for just an instant looking every last one of his twelve million years. "We're even."

"Then make me a gentleman's agreement. Promise that you won't bother my people or anyone in the Federation again."

"Very well, I promise. You have won, after all."

"Not so fast." Jim didn't let Trelane's hand out of his grasp. "Swear it on something you believe in."

"Like what?"

"Perhaps a universal constant?" Spock suggested.

"Don't be silly, Mr. Spock. There _are _no universal constants." Trelane actually reached up and patted Spock on the cheek, as though he were a precocious but misguided child. Jim wished he could have captured Spock's look of horror and contempt for posterity.

"Well then," Jim said, fighting not to laugh, "whatever's closest to a constant. Surely there must be something."

Trelane frowned, and his face contorted in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "I swear by this," he announced, and slowly pointed at Jim, then Spock, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. "Whatever you chose to call it."

Then he shook Jim's hand briskly and freed himself, striding toward the shuttlecraft without hesitation this time. He didn't look back, and the pneumatic doors slid closed behind him. Jim was too stunned to speak until they stepped out into the hall to initiate the launch sequence.

Spock tapped a few confirmatory codes into the control panel. "While I appreciate your attempt at reconciliation," he said, "I find it difficult to take him at his word when he had already failed his second chance."

"Let's hope the third time's the charm."

They watched on a viewscreen as the shuttlebay depressurized, and the massive doors opened, parting to the glaringly bright pulsar beyond. The shuttle began its autopiloted descent to the planet below, and Jim was unspeakably glad to see the _Enterprise's_ shields shimmer back to life behind it.

He faced his first officer, his friend, his more-than-a-friend, who was still following the shuttle with his eyes. It was a dot in the distance now, white against the gray surface of the tiny planet. "Something on your mind, Mr. Spock?"

"I believe I am in agreement with Trelane."

That made about as much sense as Spock announcing his intention to retire from Starfleet to become a Denebian slime devil. Jim peered at him. "Oh?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Colloquially speaking, it is fun when the mighty fall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter rating: M. Really M.**

* * *

Everyone breathed a little easier when the _Enterprise_ finally limped out of the pulsar's immediate range a few hours later. The whole ship let out a collective sigh of relief, and there was a tacit agreement that no one had to report for duty, at least for a few hours. Only Scotty kept busy with his team of engineering disciples. Much of the ship's scientific equipment needed repairs after that amount of exposure to charged particles, and the crew had to take anti-radiation meds as an added precaution, but all in all, Jim called it a success.

Spock placed a hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim sat at his desk, fresh from a sonic and writing up the last few lines of the official incident report. This time, in the privacy of the captain's quarters, he had no reason to pull away.

More than a success. A phenomenal success.

"There is much I wish to tell you," Spock said.

"Go ahead, please." Jim shut off his console and swung his chair around to gaze up at Spock. "There's a lot I'd like to know."

He waited as Spock assembled his thoughts, thankful for the opportunity to drink in the rare sight of a Vulcan coming to grips with his emotions. Half of him expected to wake up soon, alone in his bed. The other half was floating somewhere beyond Antares.

"I burned for you, during my Time," Spock murmured at last, and just hearing those words made Jim burn too. He reached out to touch Spock's wrist, to encourage him to go on. "When T'Pring rejected me, I wished to go to you in my madness. T'Pau would not permit it, and so I entered the _plak tow_. It was only for a moment, but Jim… I have never known such a feeling. I was too lost to fear it. Too lost for shame. I… I have no words."

All this time, Spock not only knew how he felt, but returned his feelings. All this time Jim had been holding back, pushing away, sleeping around, agonizing over the best way to make his love invisible. "Spock," he said, voice hoarse, "why didn't you say anything?"

"I almost did." Spock looked away.

"When?"

"When I discovered you were alive." Of course, Jim thought, as that uninhibited smile glowed in his mind's eye. He ached now to think that he hadn't seized the moment, ignored McCoy and Chapel and done something very unprofessional. "But the residual effects of _pon farr_ passed," Spock continued. "My logic returned in full, and with it my ability to regulate my emotions. That is what I proceeded to do."

"For so long. What changed?"

"I melded with you during the Melkotian incident. I sensed the nature of your affection." Spock turned, stepping away from Jim and hiding his face from view. "After a great deal of thought, and several correspondences with my mother, I concluded that I should pursue the matter." Jim decided that the next time he saw Lady Amanda, he would catch her in a bear hug, cultural propriety be damned.

"So then, Mr. Spock." He pushed himself out of his chair and circled Spock to stand before him. "What course of action do you recommend at this point?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, although he kept his gaze shyly focused anywhere but Jim. "I was under the impression that sexual intercourse is customary at this juncture."

Jim hadn't expected Spock to be so forward, and that kind of clinical language really, really should not have made him shiver the way it did. He wanted nothing better than to grab Spock and drag them both to the floor that exact second, but his sense of chivalry had other ideas. "If you want to think about it for awhile, that's fine."

"That won't be necessary," Spock said. "The prospect has occupied my thoughts for some time."

With that, Jim decided they had better do something before Spock talked him into embarrassing himself. He moved closer so he was nearly pressed flush against Spock, and ran his hands up and down Spock's arms, glad for the undershirt's short sleeves. "Just 'some' time? No days, hours, seconds?" He murmured, and lifted his eyes with a teasing grin. "Spock, you're slipping."

The tendons in Spock's neck shifted as he swallowed, and Jim barely kept himself from leaning in and kissing those delicate flutters of movement. "I merely find you difficult to quantify."

"Why, you silver-tongued devil." Jim allowed one of his hands skim higher, come to rest along the side of Spock's face. "You want to set the pace, or should I?"

Spock tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. "Explain."

"Never mind. Let's just take it slow."

Jim backed away from Spock and sauntered toward the room divider. He wasn't sure he would make it to bed without his knees giving out or his heart detonating somewhere along the way, but fate was on his side tonight. He sat on the edge to kick off his boots, and watched as Spock approached him, his movements timid as he paused by the divider to remove his own boots. Jim reached out to take his hands and draw him down.

They situated themselves gracelessly, side by side on the narrow mattress, propped up against the wall. The lack of space encouraged closeness, but before Jim could settle into a comfortable position, he was struck by a whim.

"Hold on a minute." He reached over Spock for the console beside the bed and switched to a live feed of the main viewer, PSR C50312 still within their sights, stunning to behold. Spock gave him a pointed look. "Permit me my romanticism. God knows I've put up with enough of yours recently." He tucked an arm behind Spock's back and draped the other over his waist, nestling into the space between Spock's neck and shoulder.

Spock moved to accommodate him. "My 'romanticism' was merely a logical adherence to human customs for the benefit of–"

Jim took Spock's face in his hands and kissed him as tenderly as he could. He kept it deliberate, thorough, intent on committing every detail to memory; the softness of Spock's lips, the coolness of his skin, the way he relaxed by degrees under Jim's fingers. It was awkward at first, obvious that Spock was over thinking every minute action, but Jim persevered, murmuring encouragements and teaching by example. Unsurprisingly, Spock was a fast learner, and soon he let his mouth open to Jim, reached up to touch his arms and face, even bit gently at his lips.

Jim poured everything he had into the kiss, and decided to up the ante, feeling as jittery as a teenager on his first trip to makeout lane. He shifted his position a little and put a hand on each of Spock's knees, parting Spock's legs to slip between them, move that much closer. The space between their bodies, however miniscule, was getting harder to stand with every passing second. He pushed a hand beneath the black undershirt, and his other hand went to the nape of Spock's neck to pull him back into a kiss.

Spock returned the gesture now with artless abandon, his hands kneading into Jim's back, clutching at his bathrobe. Jim moved his mouth to Spock's neck, sucking and nipping, tasting the bitter spice of his skin. "Arms up," he breathed into a Vulcan ear and pressed a quick kiss to the pointed tip.

For whatever reason, it was this tiny action that undid him. He was so acclimated to the weight of that particular unfulfilled desire that casting it off struck him with vertigo. He was clumsy as he helped Spock out of his shirt, and soon after he had to stop, bracing himself against Spock and shutting his eyes.

"Jim?"

"I'm okay. Just give me a minute." His hands dropped from Spock's shoulders to slide down his chest, over soft dark hair and flat planes of muscle, coming to rest on top of strong thighs. Real, he thought. This is real. He grounded himself with denial for years, and now he had to find a different anchor. Yet he faltered at the thought of that anchor being another person, no matter who it was, no matter how much they meant to him.

Fingers tentatively caressed his knuckles, the backs of his hands, like raindrops to kiss away a summer heat wave, to draw him out of himself. Vulcan hands were sensitive, Jim recalled, either from an anatomy class or a seedy bar discussion. Sure enough, Spock's breath hitched as he skimmed Jim's hands with his own, back and forth, painting away the lingering uncertainty.

Jim laced their fingers together, one by one, and Spock moaned and bucked his hips. Jim seized his opportunity, kissing Spock in both the human and Vulcan ways, sliding his tongue into Spock's mouth when he moaned again.

They grew bold together, their actions smoother and faster and more spontaneous. Spock pushed the robe down Jim's shoulders unprompted, kissing each new centimeter of exposed skin. Jim was disappointed to discover that Spock's nipples, although dark and inviting, had very little feeling, but Spock knew how to take a hint. Nails gently grazed over his own soon after, and Jim gasped and arched into the touch. Spock introduced him to _chensei_, two hidden glands low in his back that made him writhe when Jim kneaded them. But what interested Jim the most was the bulge of Spock's erection, tenting the front of his pants.

He palmed Spock through the layers of fabric and got a very positive reaction. It was hard to tell through the cloth, but it certainly didn't feel like anything he had run into before. He hooked his fingers in the waist of Starfleet issue pants and briefs. This was it. The moment of truth.

It turned out that Spock's penis was like four cords coiled tightly together, about the same size as a human's, but with a slight taper toward the tip and lacking a glans. He didn't have balls either; Jim had suspected as much ever since a particularly brutal fight on a planet of waist-high aliens, from which Spock had emerged better off than the rest of them. He wondered idly if Spock was still sensitive where they would be, but there was plenty of time for that later. Right now he would stick with the obvious.

He closed his hand around the grooved, green-tinted flesh and gave it slow stroke from base to tip. He watched, enthralled, as Spock's eyes fluttered closed, and his hips lifted, and a small noise escaped his throat. Clearly a test that required replication. Jim got in at least a dozen trials before Spock fought and won an epic battle with the knot that held Jim's robe together. He stripped the robe off Jim and tossed it aside, a proud gleam in his eyes.

After all, despite his inexperience, Spock was far from a passive agent. As they went along, in fact, he had become more and more aggressive. Jim should have seen it coming when he tried to pin Spock's hands on a whim.

A firm grip on his arms, a sudden, disorienting flip, and Jim found himself sprawled out on his back. Spock hovered over him, propped up on his elbows and sporting a wry expression, the weight of his body pressing Jim into the mattress. Jim laughed as he struggled half-heartedly against the Vulcan's hold. They grappled for a minute, something sweetly exciting about the contest of strength, however unfairly matched.

It was especially hard to fight back when every movement involved the distraction press of their erections against bare skin. Spock in particular seemed to orient himself so that he always had a thigh situated against Jim's groin.

Well, two could play at that game. Jim linked his leg around the back of Spock's knee and arched himself up, rutting against Spock with a growl. Spock wavered just enough for Jim to push him off and gain the upper hand.

As he heaved himself on top of Spock, however, his momentum carried him a little too far.

"_Ow!_ God_dammit_!"

"Jim, are you all right?" Spock clamored off the bed and knelt at his side in an instant, placing a hand on his shoulder.

His head was ringing with the echoes of a dull thud. "Yes." He gave his fingers and toes an experimental wiggle, his back throbbing where he had hit the floor. "Maybe."

"Do you require assistance?"

"What I require is a king-sized bed."

"A king-sized bed would take up the entire sleeping niche." Spock observed, and Jim gave him a deadly look. "Regardless, I will speak to the quartermaster tomorrow."

He helped Jim back into bed, prodding him for a minute or so with far more medical than sexual intent. Jim glanced down at his erection, which had flagged considerably during his little accident, the coward. "Well, that's no good," he murmured.

"I believe I can remedy the situation." Spock pulled Jim against him so they were back to chest, and held him there with one arm. He reached around Jim's waist to stroke him at an excruciatingly slow pace, framing Jim with his limbs. Clever fingers worked out Jim's most sensitive spots, and in no time at all, he was thrusting into Spock's tight grasp, fully recovered and then some.

"Is my technique satisfactory?"

"First-rate." Jim gasped. So good he wasn't going to last much longer if Spock kept it up. He shooed Spock's hand away and twisted around in the fence of his legs to take hold of both their cocks, caressing them together. He flushed as the hardness and heat of Spock's erection slid against his own so intimately, the difference in texture enhancing the pleasure. He wondered what that twisting surface might feel like inside him.

Apparently, Spock had his own ideas about that. He was the one who ended their brief frot and guided Jim to lay face-up. Jim was all set to put his gym hours to good use and hitch his legs over strong Vulcan shoulders, but Spock straddled his lap instead.

"Oh my God." Jim threw an arm over his face, then peeked out from beneath it. "Spock, hold on, are you sure–"

"I am," Spock said, reaching behind himself to take Jim's erection in hand, although he looked somewhat daunted by what he was about to attempt.

"Wait. Wait a minute. Let me… you can't just…" Jim scooted out from beneath Spock and sit up against the pillows. He grabbed Spock's chin to drag him in for a quick, sloppy kiss, then he tore open one of his bedside drawers and started fumbling for lubricant. Finally he found the bottle, and managed to snatch it up before it skittered off his fingertips.

Spock gave him a sheepish look. "Isn't your natural lubrication sufficient?"

"Maybe, if you've done this before. But you haven't done this before, have you?"

"Affirmative." Spock turned a very interesting shade of olive. "Unless self-stimulation applies," he added, and Jim had to consciously think about the salt monster and the ghostly hags from Sylvia's planet to keep from getting overexcited at that gem of a revelation.

"Not quite the same thing." He managed weakly, when he had some semblance of control back. "Better safe than sorry." He snapped the bottle's top and poured some into his palm. "Okay. Hands and knees."

"But Jim, I… I wish to… this configuration is intriguing, and…"

It took Jim a good five seconds to figure out what Spock was trying to say. He bit back a snicker and traced his clean hand along Spock's ribs. "All right. We'll do it your way." He shifted to a more comfortable sitting position and reeled Spock in with an arm around his waist to plant a kiss on his solar plexus. "Spread your legs a little more for me. Not enough. A little more." He laughed when Spock persistently interpreted 'a little' as almost nothing. "About ten centimeters on each side, Mr. Spock. Should I make it an order?"

Jim could actually feel the pulse of heat that flickered across Spock's skin. "That won't be necessary," Spock murmured, and shifted on his knees to widen his stance.

He clutched Jim against his chest as Jim worked him open. He was wonderfully responsive, burying his face and tangling his hands into Jim's hair, molding himself around Jim's fingers without the slightest complaint or hint of resistance. He didn't seem to have a prostate, but there was definitely something going on when Jim crooked his fingers in around the same area.

"I'm curious," Jim said, almost breathless with desire as he introduced a third finger. "Any particular reason you want to be on top?"

"I have dreamed about such a scenario."

"You're kidding." Jim couldn't believe he had company in that department.

"I am not. You… you were telling me that you enjoyed it. In the dream."

"What did I say?"

"I cannot remember."

"I bet I know." Jim rubbed a thumb over Spock's hip as he withdrew his fingers, only to push them back inside a moment later, stretching the tight opening. Spock groaned and swayed a little, leaning into the press of Jim's fingers. "Probably said that I like being able to see you. To watch your face when you take it." He repeated his previous technique, this time reaching deeper than before. "And God, you just take it so easy, don't you?"

"Jim… please," Spock panted somewhere above his ear.

"You're ready?" Spock was ready by anyone's standards, and had been for awhile, but Jim wanted to hear him say it.

"Yes." Spock groaned. Without another word he shifted back, lined himself up, and started to sink down, encasing Jim in his body.

Jim gasped and rested his hands on Spock's waist, trying to make him slow down, but his muscles were weak with pleasure. "Don't push yourself."

Spock shut his eyes. "I am not." He bottomed out a second later, and Jim moaned, pistoning up to meet him. "Oh Jim, I… _ah!_" He drew his lower lip between his teeth and fell both very silent and very still.

"Are you ok?"

Spock let out the breath he had been holding. "I am… unused to the sensation."

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No," Spock said quickly. "No, it is merely… intense."

The sound of that last word as it passed through Spock's lips was a rapture in and of itself. Intense was a serious understatement. It had to be Spock's superior Vulcan control, because he was tighter around Jim than he had been right after the effortless entry, and Jim was drifting in a delerium of bliss.

Spock fixed his hands to the top of his thighs for leverage when he began to move, and Jim wove their fingers together again as he watched Spock; the slow ripple of his muscles beneath his skin, the dark green tint of his lips and nipples and cock, but most of all, the fleeting shadows of his expressions. Jim had seen things beyond any human's comprehension, but nothing could compare to Spock's face contorted in ecstasy.

Very close now, Jim freed one of his hands to grasp Spock's erection. Spock pushed Jim's hand away, shaking his head. "Too much," he gasped. "I cannot…"

"Then don't." Jim took hold of Spock again, stroked him once, rubbed his thumb over the tip.

Spock's hips canted up of their own accord, heedless of the rhythm they had been setting until then. Jim watched in awe as his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, rolled up to the ceiling, and closed, as his chin tilted back and his mouth fell open. His short, sharp cries sounded like equal parts surprise and ecstasy. He rocked down against Jim desperately, and his body clenched in long, tight pulses as he came.

Jim focused, concentrated, clung to that sensation as it ebbed and flowed like the sea until he waded out far enough to be knocked flat by a wave. The rush of pleasure hit him square in the gut, constricted his every muscle, clasped around his throat so he couldn't breathe. Then he was cast up onto the shore, gasping for air between broken moans, his helpless body shaken by the tide.

When Jim regained some measure of awareness, he surfaced to find Spock curled into him, face tucked against his chest, shuddering and moaning softly with aftershocks. Jim cracked a fatigued smile at the ceiling and stroked his palm up and down Spock's back. "Deep breaths," he murmured.

On the inhale, Spock went completely still. On the exhale, Spock melted against him, and Jim thought that was just about the best thing in the world. He kissed the top of Spock's head and wished he could reach an ear too without moving, because moving was definitely not in his current repertoire of abilities.

They lay in silence for awhile, cooling down and catching their breath. Spock draped a hand over Jim's, brushing their fingers together, gentle and lazy.

After some time, Jim thought he could manage another syllable. "Good?"

The amusement in Spock's voice was a faint but definite undercurrent. "Yes."

A little more time passed in sated silence, and Jim could feel himself starting to drift off, wrapped in the warmth that was Spock. When they had started, he could distinctly recall how cool Spock's skin was, but now he radiated heat, and it made Jim sleepy. With a tremendous amount of effort, he forced himself out of bed to get a damp washcloth, knowing he'd regret it in the morning if he didn't take care of cleaning them up now. Spock writhing like a certain saint beneath the brush of the cold, wet cloth was an unexpected bonus.

Necessary tasks completed, he slipped back into bed and tucked himself around Spock. "I suppose it would be irresponsible for the captain and first officer to take a week of shore leave in the middle of uncharted territory."

"Quite," Spock said. "Although there is no regulation about synchronizing our schedules for corresponding off-duty times."

"I guess we'll just have to settle, then."

Spock was quiet for a moment. "Using the mind meld, it is possible to skew one's perception of time."

And damn if Jim hadn't forgotten all about that in the heat of the moment. There was only so much he could think about at once, and his first glimpses of a nude Spock had occupied about ninety-nine percent of his brainpower. "Something to look forward to, then."

"By my estimation, there are many things to look forward to."

* * *

They were both ten minutes late to morning shift the next day, due to Spock's insistence that sharing a sonic would be more efficient. To put it mildly, his hypothesis proved incorrect, and the exact timing of mind-melds was trickier than he thought. It was only after they both arrived for duty at the same time that Jim realized they should have staggered their entrances, or come up with a good excuse, or something. The look McCoy gave them was suspicious, and Uhura's was blatantly scandalous.

"There's two messages for you, sir." She said as Jim passed her chair, feeling distinctly self-conscious.

"From who, Lieutenant?"

"I couldn't say. They just appeared in the com banks. No direction, no carrier wave, no subspace signature." She shrugged, and handed him a PADD.

Jim called them up as he strode down to the lower level, Spock and McCoy joining him to peer over his shoulders.

_Greetings and felicitations, my dear crew of the Enterprise!_

_I hope this letter finds you all well! I must say, Captain, you confounded me for the better part of an Earth decade with that trick of yours (please, don't hurt yourself trying to understand the time paradox)! I simply had to escape, you see; there was a quantum fluctuation developing in the Delta quadrant, and anyone worth his photons was going to be there!_

_But I learned a great deal in the process, and so I offer you knowledge in return! I thought you might like to know, the man who invented the modern heart symbol was a monk in medieval Italy! He saw a depiction of a Silphium seed on an ancient coin, and decided it bore a miraculous resemblance to a local peasant woman's buttocks and bosom! Enclosed in this message, please find other significant corrections to the history of your preposterous holiday!_

_I must be off, and so I conclude this most inefficient method of communication! From this point forward, I shall honor our agreement, Captain, one gentleman to another!_

_Cheerio!_

_Sir Trelane the Magnificent, esq.!_

_PS: My dear Captain, although I cannot begin to understand your taste, I wish you the very best!_

Silence as the three men absorbed this message together. More silence as they re-read to dispel their doubts. Jim was about to open the attachment, but decided against it, at least for now.

"He appears have misunderstood the concept of the exclamation point," Spock finally observed.

"No, he just writes like he talks," McCoy snorted, and shook his head. "What's the second message, Jim?"

DEAR SIR AND/OR MADAME AND/OR OTHER,

THE CONTINUUM WISHES TO EXPRESS ITS GRATITUDE FOR YOUR LOOKING AFTER THE Q KNOWN AS TRELANE. Q TOLD US HE WOULD BE AT THE WHIRLPOOL GALAXY WITH Q, AND Q SAID HE WOULD BE AT THE ANDROMEDA GALAXY WITH Q, AND BOTH Q WENT ELSEWHERE INSTEAD. WE APOLOGIZE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE AND/OR LOSS OF LIFE THAT ACCOMPANIED THIS INCIDENT. YOUR LESSER, HIGHLY FRAGILE SPECIES WILL NOT BE INTERFERED WITH AGAIN.*

INCORPOREALLY YOURS,

Q

*MOST LIKELY.

"Q? The continuum?" Jim frowned, tempted for the umpteenth time in three days to pinch himself to make sure he was awake. "What on earth…" Spock tilted his head back and lifted his eyebrows in the Vulcan version of a shrug.

"Well I'll be," McCoy said, and started laughing. "A classic round robin. He's not a child at all. He's a teenager."

"I don't suppose there's a return address," Jim said hopefully, scanning the letters once more.

"That does not appear to be the case."

"Pity." Jim shifted his weight to lean the tiniest bit closer to Spock. "I would have liked to send a thank-you note."

"Or perhaps a Valentine's Day card," Spock said lightly.

McCoy pivoted to face them, one slow step at a time, and gave them each a careful look, as if to ask if they needed their heads examined. But he must have missed his coffee this morning, because he just squinted at them for a long moment before heading for the turbolift, shaking his head. He might figure it out later – hell, it was inevitable – but for now it was their little secret.

There was the soft brush of two fingers against his palm, and by the time Jim turned back around, Spock was halfway to the science station. Where, Jim knew, he would remain bent over his scanner just so for the next several hours.

Jim didn't even bother concealing his insane grin as he settled into his chair. Out of all the surprises the universe had offered him, this was his favorite.

* * *

**A/N: Holy gorn... I just... wow. I can't even. I had no idea this would become my first major attempt at a plot, but it turns out campy, one-off TOS characters are way too much fun to write! I hope you enjoyed - I'm off to go recover from sleep deprivation, thanks to this thing. **


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